Dead Duster Walking
by Sianie
Summary: If all the life you knew was Dust Town and crime, if all you were told was "keep your head down until I say aye..." If you did terrible things so you and your family could survive, what would you do if you were offered a way out? Find out what Missa did.
1. Still Alive

For once, Dust Town refused to look her in the eye today. Not that she would let them if they had the chance- she stuck mostly to the shadows, avoiding anything that crossed her path. Today was a day of: _you didn't see me, right?_

"I don't get why you're leader." Missa Brosca turned on her heel and glared at the voice, an eyebrow raised.

"Problem, duster?" She whispered harshly. Her eyes at the runty red head in front her, annoyed at the tone.

He took one look at her glare and looked down. "No."

"Good. We stick to the plan, we'll be fine. Leske is scouting ahead in the Commons. Beraht's paid the guards to not be there when we arrive, which means we got to work quickly and cleanly. What do we have to do?" She asked, poking the two men then.

"Whatever you say," one muttered. Missa rolled her eyes. While she'd seen this particular duster fight and knew his skills, he was one step short of useless when it came to thinking.

"Good. Now keeps your heads down and your mouth shut, we're about to leave Dust Town. And hide your weapons, for Stone's sake…"

The unassuming entrance marked the end of Dust Town, and spilled into the Commons. The light was brighter here, but there were still shadows to hide in. They slipped though a hole in a wall that was unguarded, and headed to the back of an empty shop.

Leske appeared then and winked at her. Missa pulled the cloak around from her head and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "We're in shit street, salroka," he murmured. "Fool must've expected trouble, he's got bodyguards."

"How many?" She asked roughly, and shifted the holders of her daggers around her chest.

"An actual elf, first I've seen one; she was carrying a crossbow. Four surfacer thugs, weapons don't look used."

"Five against four, not bad." Missa started to bounce on her heels, nervous energy pouring through her.

"Six if you include the merchant- he doesn't look a slob with that sword of his. No, the problems will be the elf and our mark. We got to play it careful."

"Right." She thought and decided quickly. "You two," and at that she aimed a kick at their companions. "Heard all that?" They nodded once, jaws tight. "You'll be on the guards, Leske on the elf. I'll be on the merchant."

Missa shrugged off her cloak and stashed it behind some rubble, ready to fight. "Traps have been set," Leske murmured, adjusting the kerchief around his neck. "Do or die, duster," he murmured. It was their prayer said before every job they did, a habit neither of them could shake.

"Then let's move out." Missa gestured for stealth and pushed the back door open, walking into the rundown shop. From her vantage point she could see the merchant waiting. He was expecting a meeting with Beraht; what he would be getting instead was her.

She stepped forward and made herself known. The elven bodyguard spotted her first and subtly shifted a firmer hold on a crossbow, eyes never leaving Missa's face. Leske and the others waited in the shadows for her word.

"Where's Beraht?" The merchant asked. He was a middle aged dwarf with a black beard; his clothes and demeanour stunk of the surface, and Missa shrugged.

"I've been sent with a message. Guthrin, I assume?"

The merchant laughed, and nodded to his guard. "There's a surprise. Though I hardly think it's just you, is it?"

Missa grinned. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm here just to deliver his words." The merchant gestured once and the elven woman to his right stood down, still waiting for a sign of something.

"So speak, messenger."

She was glad for the opportunity to pad out the time. The guards had yet to swing by and lock the front doors, so she raised her hands. "Beraht is …not happy about the spice shipments he brought from you. They, uh, have not arrived when they said they would. He's lost money, and that makes him annoyed."

The merchant examined his fingernails. "Beraht has no concept of how things are shipped and dealt with on the surface. I do not control the sea and the waves; I have no control over how long it takes for things to arrive by cargo. It was estimated that the ship would arrive in Highever a month ago, but it was only that- an estimation."

Missa shrugged again. "Well, the thing is," she said slowly, finally noticing the city guards at the shop entrance. "Beraht's an impatient man. He, let's just say… Decided to end the deal now, and has already acquired the money back in ways I don't quite understand, but I assume that means he's already taken from you. What happens now is, well..."

One of the Commons guards cleared his throat. "We'll be off now. The next hour the city watch didn't see anything but the lava." Missa nodded, and the front door was slammed shut with a bolt from the front. Missa ducked as the elf -_Stone, _she was quick- swung her bow over and she felt an arrow graze her shoulder. It stung enough for her to growl in pain.

"Leske, now!" She yelled, and the room filled with fog. Quickly she pulled her mask over mouth and watched as the merchant and his guards coughed and wheezed their way in the distracting smoke, eyes watering. She aimed a kick at the merchant's kidneys, watching as the apparently green bodyguards made short work of her other men. Leske had the elf woman on her knees, but he was soon knocked over by a punch to the shoulder.

Missa managed to put her blade to a delicate throat and ran the woman through. A shield was brought to Leske's head, and down he fell. She growled again and struck out, but her attack was feinted and a fist was brought to her nose; she felt something break, and blood drip down her face.

Two men were still standing, including the merchant; she was the only one left, and with a grin she noticed that they were both bleeding heavily. She feinted as the bodyguard charged at her and dodged an attack, driving a dagger through his back. He fell down, and she circled the merchant, eyes raised.

"Just give him the shipment," she said roughly. "It doesn't have to end like this."

Her request was ignored and he raised his sword shakily, blood pooling by his legs. Missa ducked and rolled, kicking him to the floor where he collapsed.

She walked over to her men, counting the casualties. The dusters she brought on the job were dead, blood already staining the stone. She frowned at Leske, and tried to ignore the tightness in her chest as she approached his still form.

Missa poked him with her foot gently, smoke dissipating in the room. With one eye on the merchant, she leant over Leske. She grabbed his stubbly jaw and shook it carefully, with the acquired crossbow now aimed on her captive. Carefully she pried back her friend's eyes, realising he was only unconscious.

With a sigh, she walked over to the merchant; one of his guards started to wake, and she stomped on his hands and kicked the nearest sword out of reach. A swift boot to the head stopped any movement; she was finally alone with the man she was sent to kill.

Wiping the cut on her lip, Missa glared at the merchant. "Shall we try this again, Guthrin?" She drawled, swallowing blood. Her nose still smarted from the blow.

"Not bad for a Beraht lackey."

Missa mockingly bowed. "At your service."

"Huh. A woman. Figures." Gurthin coughed up some blood and spat it to his side. Missa crouched over him and poked one of his wound. He was bleeding heavily; Leske had appeared to cripple his legs before he went down, and Missa worked out he didn't have much time left.

"Don't try anything," she threatened, crossbow shouldered. She found the dead elf's ammo and cocked the bolt back, grunting at the strength it took to do so.

Gurthin looked at her then, assessing her quietly. "I'll pay you double what he's paying you if let me go. I have a wife and daughter to care for, I love them very much."

Missa snorted at that, and cleared the counter so she could sit on something. "Doesn't work like that. You should know by now."

Gurthin laughed then, and coughed up more blood. "Does it have to?"

She examined her crossbow, laying it quietly on her lap. "Like a surfacer would know," she muttered at him. At that, the merchant laughed again. Missa shook her head. "You must've taken a blow worse then I thought… So let's try this one more time. You were paid for the spices; the spices haven't arrived. Beraht is angry. Do you see where this is going?"

"Why does it matter?" Gurthrin said, still laughing. "I'm going to die anyway. Right? You're going to kill me. So fuck you."

She flexed her left arm experimentally and checked her wounds, shrugging at him distantly. "Maybe not. I don't do completely as I'm bid, you know."

Gurthin tried moving, but gave up when it opened up more wounds. He looked up at her, face pale. "What's your name?"

Missa rolled her eyes at the attempt at civility and snorted again. "Call me Missa."

"If that's your real name. Tell me, Missa. Do you care that the King is dying? Does it matter to you?" She kept the confusion that flickered across her face away from his gaze, baffled he would ask that question in a tone that would suggest they were polite strangers.

"What's one dead king to me? Like they give a shit about a brand, any of them."

Gurthin laughed again, blood spilling out of his mouth. "Ah, Missa. See, you're lying to me."

She screwed her face up in disbelief, and laughed once. "Whatever, duster. Just- look, just tell me where the spices are. And maybe you can walk away from this alive."

"They got held up at sea, such is the nature of ships. Beraht knew this when he signed over the claim, and yet he still sent you. No, we're not talking about that. See, duster," and he spat the word back at her, "I was once like you. Yapping at the heels of the local crime lord, licking the boots of the Carta. You may think I'm a surfacer, but I was born in Dust Town."

Missa rose and pushed a dagger to his throat, her eyes sparking in anger. "And just because you're like me I should let you go? You don't know Dust Town at all," she replied, her blade digging in enough to warn.

"Oh I know Dust Town. Tell me, Missa," and blood flecked spittle hit her cheek as he talked, "what would you give to leave it? To forget it all, for your brand to somehow disappear over night?"

She laughed then. "And what, become a surfacer, like you? To drown in all that open air? No thanks."

"Fuck Stone sense. It's a load of bronto shit, and you know it. What has the Stone done for you, sweetheart? No, I look at you and you know that. You know you're scum. So start being honest with me; give a dying man that."

She shrugged, then sat back down on her seat. "Fine. Ask away, old man. You're just a dead duster talking. If those wounds of yours are anything to go by, anyway..."

"If you stay here, then what? What would you do? Oh, you may rise in the Carta. You may catch the eye of a higher caste or two, an exotic looking woman quick with a knife certainly comes in handy… But don't assume you'll be a Noble Hunter, not with those scars and tattoos. You have it worse then the poor slobs rotting away in Dust Town. Because you're a brand with ambition." The merchant spat more blood out, and his voice started to roughen.

Missa pursed her lips, amused at him. "Do tell, fortune teller. Read my cards for me."

Gurthin coughed up more blood, body wracking in pain. "What will happen to you? Maybe you'll meet someone. Maybe you already have," and at that he gestured to the prone, quiet form of Leske, who was still unconscious. "He'll be a fraction of what you could hope for, but you'll make do. Because that's what Dust Town does, you see. It makes do. Of course, that'll be the first of your hopes to be shat on, because what's worse then one brand, but two? Slowly the dirt of the city will choke you, and will drag you down."

She stood up, anger clenching her fists, pushing all thoughts of her Mother out of her mind. "You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not my- I'm not.."

"So don't be. Fuck 'em all, and leave. I'll pay for a new life for you; you seem like a smart girl and can fight. There'd be plenty of work for you on the surface."

Missa thought of Beraht and the hold he had over their family and just laughed hollowly. She knew Rica and her Mother would never follow to the surface, ever. "No."

He knew he had struck a nerve, but carried on. "One day the Carta will have enough of you, you know; maybe they'll kill you," Gurthin had collapsed completely now, fight out of him. Missa knew he was dying.

"No they won't," she whispered. "I'll kill them first."

He heard her words and coughed again in a fit of laughter. "If somehow you live, you'll wear your anger and disappointment like a lady wears her jewels- that fine mouth of yours will become mean and hard. Whatever kids you push out in the dirt won't even raise a drink in your direction when your corpse is sent into the lava, as you've finally become everything you hate, old and useless and dying for nothing."

His last words echoed around the room. She look stunned at her hands; the crossbow was in them, string loose from being fired; the bolt lay in-between the merchant's eyes, and she dropped the weapon to the floor with a shocked clatter; she didn't even remember pulling the trigger.

"Urgh…." Leske stirred behind her. Missa shook herself once and rose to reach him, and helped her friend up. "Well salroka," he said, slurring his words. "If I look as bad as I feel, then I'm in trouble."

"Quit your bitching," she said, pain lacing her sides as he leant on her.

"The merchant?"

"Dead," Missa flicked her gaze briefly to the bleeding corpse on the floor, and tightened her jaw.

"Well, shit. Job done, then. All thanks to me, obviously." It was hard not to smack him over the head for that, despite his injury.

"He didn't have the spices, said they were lost at sea."

"Huh. Beraht's going to be really happy about that. What about the others?" He looked around, and Missa started walking to the back door.

"Dead. All dead; we're the last ones alive."

"Then let's get out of here, before we're seen," he replied. Missa didn't need telling twice, and the pair of them left the shop finally.

The pair of them headed out of the Commons and back to Dust Town, with Missa helping Leske every few steps. They were dead dusters walking, she knew. But all she could do was survive.


	2. A Sister's Job

Another day closing, another job done. Her body was somehow getting used to the constant fighting, the hits she took seeming to hurt less and less.

"Dammit, I'm hungry." Missa stretched up, despite her injuries. They had roughed up a group of surfacers slow on their end of a payment in the more shadier part of the Commons; apparently it was ravenous work.

"We really should be getting back to Beraht," Leske said to her right. Tobaws -their other partner in crime- shrugged, apparently not bothered by the knife wound on his arm.

"I could eat too," the bigger dwarf lumbered.

"You surprise me," she said with an eye roll, then laughed as she poked Tobaws' cast iron gut quickly. One of Leske's favourite games when he got drunk was _What Could Tobaws Eat?_ An old lava stone currently was the record.

Leske sighed. "Fine. But you duster heads better explain why we didn't go straight back to Beraht's..."

"Stop whining. We got awhile." At that, the men at her side shrugged.

"Where we eating? Your Mam's, Missa? Will Rica cook for us?" Tobaws asked, a little too hopefully.

Leske just waggled his eyebrows. "Duster, I'd endure a meal with your Mother if that sister of yours was there…"

Missa punched Leske on his bandaged shoulder and grinned when he yelped in pain. "Stone no, she's out. And I wouldn't let you nuglicking bastards eat me out of house and home again. Mam still thinks you stole her drink."

Leske shrugged, then winced at the movement; he caught a kick between the shoulders that still hurt. "Shack it is, then. You paying?" He asked her, his eyes glinting from the lava light of Dust Town.

"Oh? Who died and made you a Paragon, hmm? Buy your own, you tight bastard."

'The Shack' as it was known in Dust Town was just a rickety stall that sold hot food to those with coin. It had a tendency to relocate and shift position, depending how bothered the guards were to shut it down at the time. It was run by a talented old woman who went by the name of Manda; despite her age and huge girth, the old girl ran her kitchen with a stone fist and could somehow make even dust and melt water enchant into a feast. Her son was also good for sourcing a few poisons and herbs needed in their line of work, as well as the occasional weapon… As long as you kept quiet about it, of course.

She ordered her meal under the steely glare of Manda, who took one look at their bloodied and bruised appearance in a huff. "No trouble now," she said, shaking a ladle at her.

Missa smiled and tugged her hat respectably. "'Course not, Manda. We'll be good."

Manda grunted and shook her head. "Huh. Like you would know how."

Leske leant on the shack and salted his food, eyebrow raised at the cook. He had already flirted his way into a larger portion, and was turning on the charm again. "What you on about, Manda? We're pillars of virtue here in Dust Town. Folks see us as an example."

"Folks see you and run if they got sense, lad." At that she shooed them away from her grill, and Missa shrugged and sat on the table by the shack. She devoured her meal of questionable meat and drank her warm stone soup quickly, grateful for a full belly.

"Aaw, shit," Tobaws said to her right quietly. She looked to see what caused the reaction, and saw Jarvia then. Missa carefully put her bowl down and tightened her jaw.

"Told you we should've gone straight to Beraht's," and at that Missa scowled at Leske's remark.

"Well, isn't this nice. " Jarvia took in their meal and sat opposite Missa and smirked. "Job done, I assume?"

"Yes," Missa replied, and clenched her bruised fists under the table. She knew then that their entry back into Dust Town had not gone unwatched, and she cursed her stupidity.

"Hmm. And yet, here you are."

"We got hungry," Tobaws said earnestly. At that, the men flanking Jarvia laughed. Jarvia however did not remove her gaze from Missa. Slowly the older woman rose from her seat and circled their table.

Missa knew she had to play her next move carefully, and was painfully aware of her position in the Carta right now. It wasn't so much loose sand they were standing on, something Beraht constantly reminded her of. The three of them had tumbled head first into the lava now, status unknown.

She pretended to relax and shrugged. "We worked up quite an appetite, what can I say? Better we go to Beraht's with a full belly then him listening to our whining first. Fed dusters are happy dusters, and happy dusters do what they're told."

Her face was shoved flat on the table and held firmly in place. A sharp knee was at her back, and Missa was completely pinned to the table. She felt the the prick of a dagger at the skin of her neck and the grease of her meal smeared into her cheek. Missa tried not to inhale the pooling soup gathering around her nostrils, resisting every defiant bone in her body to fight back.

"Know your place," Jarvia whispered into her ear and pushed her dagger in further. It was deep enough to graze, a point of blood forming. With a hand as delicate as a lover's, Jarvia brushed her exposed back, tucking a strand of her short hair from her face.

Missa breathed heavily through her mouth, trying to stay calm. Leske looked up at Jarvia and rose from his seat; one of her goons shoved him back down, and Leske held his hands up in submission. "Of course, Jarvia. We'll get right on it and see Beraht now," he said quietly. Missa clenched her teeth through her anger, fighting her meek compliance still. Tobaws was shaking at the pressure one of them was applying to his damaged arm and yelped suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jarvia snorted at the noise and withdrew her weapon. "Not worth the effort," she replied. "Beraht's expecting you. Do not keep him waiting. Oh, and you?" She pointed to Tobaws then, and the bigger man looked up. "I have work for you. Follow me," she said loudly.

Missa wiped the remains of her meal from her face and glared up at her, silent in her rage. Jarvia rose a mocking eyebrow at her and turned on her heel, her thugs following like lapdogs.

Something broke then, and the men and women around the shack went back to their meal. Dust Town had seen worse. The power shift of the Carta was something most of the brands pretended not to notice, as no one wanted attention from the local mob.

Shakily Missa withdrew a few coppers and gestured to Manda. "Sorry 'bout the mess, old girl," she said to the cross-armed woman at he grill. Manda was still holding her ladle in her hands, scowl still etched into a heavy brow. "For your troubles."

She followed in the opposite direction of where Jarvia was, not caring if Leske followed, purposely walking off her anger. The journey to Beraht's Dust Town base was uneventful, and by the time she reached the stone entrance to the unassuming hovel she had calmed down and shoved her defiance in a place where she could manage it from a distance.

Missa walked to his office and leant on the wall outside, waiting for him to finish talking to a frightened pair of women. They were pretty enough, she thought. Must be the new girls he had his eye on, and she was trying to work out if they were going to be common whores or elevated to Noble Hunter status with Beraht's influence.

Leske stood next to her, his face a hard mask. She knew he was angry about the Jarvia situation earlier, and that she would get the blame for it. Missa raised an eyebrow at him and grinned, knowing he was useless at staying mad at her for long. He sighed, then shook his head with a reluctant smile. "Reckon boss will know about our little diversion?" She asked quietly.

He shrugged using his good shoulder. "Probably. But he seems in a good mood; new women always puts him in a good mood," he whispered back.

She watched Beraht watch the girls leave. Missa could see the empty look one of them had in her eyes and Missa tightened her jaw, trying to ignore the lust on his face. One looked barely a teenager.

She raised her eyes to Beraht, who glared at her and gestured to them both to enter the room. "The job is done… I just got paid by the topsider. He had a badly broken jaw too," Beraht said to her. "Your work, I assume?"

"Probably," she replied, rubbing the ghost of pain that lingered on her knuckles.

"Hah. Don't be too arrogant, whore. You were quicker then I thought. Don't make a habit of it, it leads to sloppy behaviour."

Missa stood straighter and bit her tongue. Reluctantly Beraht dug into his money purse and handed them over a couple of silver bits each, their blood money. Missa knew exactly how much a life cost in Orzammar thanks to the Carta.

"Thanks boss," Leske said in a grin. Cash was cash.

Beraht looked at her again, long enough for Missa to shift on her feet uncomfortably. "Well, you're not as pretty as your sister, but you'll have to do. I need someone who can shut up when they're told to do a job for me. If you do it well, then maybe you'll get paid."

Leske looked sideways at her. "That I'll like to see," he muttered, teasing his salroka.

Beraht threw him a look of contempt and waved him off. "Get lost, duster. You're done for the day." Leske nodded once and left the room, feet quiet. Missa did not see the look of pity he gave her as he closed the door.

"I'm not opening my legs," Missa said suddenly. Beraht laughed and tucked his thumbs into his belt, taking in her tattoos and bruises.

"As if I'd find anyone desperate enough for you," he said with a sneer. "Go home and speak with your sister. She will tell you where you're going." Missa nodded and left, fear in her stomach. As she had her hand on the door latch, her boss spoke again. "And remember to wash before you go. You stink like a dust whore."

Missa tightened her hands until the leather of her gauntlets creaked, too angry to bother replying. As the door closed, Leske appeared by her side. "Well?" He asked.

Missa glared at him. "I have to bodyguard my sister," she replied, lying through her teeth. She had no idea where she would be going, but she certainly hoped it involved her fists. Missa had the urge to hit something very hard right now, so very angry at the rage that refused to leave her.

Leske grinned ruthlessly. "Hey now, I could do that. Take some pressure off you, salroka, you do so much already…" She rolled her eyes and walked away from him, her feet heading her home.

"Fuck you, Leske."

"Hah. No thanks. But that sister of yours…" Missa growled and raised a fist. Leske backed away, laughing again.

"Alright, alright. I'll stop. Seriously though, what did he want?"

Missa paused in her strides, frowning, unsure herself what Beraht expected her to be. "Eh, the usual I suppose. 'I own your family, Brosca. Don't forget it, Brosca. You're on a short leash, Brosca.'"

Leske snorted and wriggled his injured shoulder experimentally. "Definitely the usual, then. Well my friend," and with that he slapped her on the back. "Good luck with holding your sister's coat while she flirts with rich men." Missa's stomach opened up, the chasm of her anger widening. She looked at the beaten door of her home and slumped her shoulders. Home was where she went to sleep when she had to, that was all.

"Yeah, whatever. I suppose it will be dull." Leske heard the defeated tone in her voice and this time didn't reply with a joke. He pushed her slightly, aware of her dislike at being here. Leske could hear her Mother greet her drunkenly as she finally opened the door. He shook his head, thankful he didn't live with his family anymore.

Missa looked around for her salroka, but he was soon gone. With a sigh she faced her Mother, closing the beaten door carefully. "Good fer nothin' one," the older woman drunkenly slurred. Missa lifted her further into the chair to stop her from falling off of it, wincing suddenly as the smell of lichen wine greeted her nose.

"Yes Mother, the useless one," she replied under her breath. Thankfully her Mother had passed out again. The blackouts were frankly a welcome relief compared to the intoxicated ramblings she usually endured.

"Missa?" A voice called from the doorway. She looked up, and saw her sister in drying rags, trying to brush her hair. "Thank the Stone you're here. Did you-"

"Yeah, Rica." She said under her breath. She removed her gloves and suddenly threw them at the wall, angry again at the day.

Her sister frowned then, and made her way over. "What did he make you do this time?" Missa pursed her lips and went into the bedroom they shared. Neatly Rica had folded an outfit on the bed, the stone bath still filled with water.

"Oh, you know," she muttered, defeated again. She sat on the battered chest that made up for her wardrobe and rubbed her eyes tiredly, wondering who brought her sister the dress.

It was a game they played, the Brosca siblings. Missa wouldn't tell her sister what she did for Beraht, and Rica wouldn't tell her what she did either. Both danced around the issue, mostly pride and shame keeping them from completely confiding in each other. "He said we're doing something tonight, and that you would know what I'm doing."

Rica frowned slightly, then carried on brushing her hair. "Yes. Don't worry, it's not what you think. It's just… Well, one of the girls who usually does it is ill and-"

Missa groaned in annoyance, head in hands. "Does it mean I get to hit something? I've had a bad day."

Rica's mouth quirked in a small smile. "Nothing like that. You just have to neaten up and serve drinks in a waiting room while we're introduced to some members of the Warrior Caste… Beraht organised it to be held at half of Tapster's, it seems. You won't be meeting the men or anything, just be in the back with the girls, waiting. And keeping an eye out for trouble, if it comes."

Missa laughed suddenly, thinking of Leske. He was right, she would be holding her sister's coat after all. "Warrior Caste?" And she raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile on her lips.

"I know, I know. Practise for the nobles, he called it," Rica said bitterly. "There's Lord Harrowmont's function later on in the week, I suppose… "

Missa held her hands up. "Yeah, well. Good luck with that," she muttered. Tentatively she touched the cooling stone of the bath and started stripping off her leathers. It wasn't the first time they'd shared bath water, and she knew her sister left it out for her.

"You're covered in bruises," Rica said quietly. Missa sat down and reached for the soap, frowning at the caked blood on her legs. Shivering slightly in the tepid water, she began to scrub her self raw.

"I'm fine. They're all for show, nothing hurts bad." She looked at Rica then; she was looking at Missa's blood splattered work clothes with a frown. "I got clean leathers in my chest. I'm not wearing any of your dresses, Rica. They don't fit."

"New tattoo?" Rica asked, aware her sister was in a stubborn mood. Missa peered over a wet shoulder to see the blackened runes there. Her skin was healing still and itched slightly due to the tattooist stinting on the healing poultice.

"Oh, yeah. Like it?"

Rica laughed and threw a drying cloth at her. "Soon you'll have no bare skin left. You'll be covered." Missa grinned at the thought. She had other plans, but ink was expensive in Dust Town.

"They're addictive. Leave me to my vices, at least it isn't drink." Both of them looked at the direction of their Mother then, passed out by the table still.

Rica finally was ready, perfumed and dressed in her finery. As the last of her jewelled pins were slid home into shiny red hair, she thoughtfully looked at her younger sibling. Missa was currently shoving her leathers on still damp skin, carelessly. "What?" She asked, finally aware Rica was staring.

"Nothing. Just wondering when the toddling girl with could barely reach the door knobs grew up into you."

"Oh please," Missa snorted in reply. As she was putting on her boots back on she found her hair attacked by a hairbrush. With a firm hand, she was pushed back to sit on the chest by her sister and Missa sighed dramatically.

"Don't make me hit you on the head with my brush like I did when you were a kid," Rica said with a smile, brushing her hair smoothly.

"Ha." Missa winced as a particularly nasty knot was combed out.

"I don't see why you let it get like this and hide it under that cap of yours… It's beautiful hair, lovely and shiny. Some noble woman would kill for it."

"Maybe I should sell it- what would I get, a few silver? Maybe a sovereign."

Rica laughed then. "Not that amount, sadly. Artisans don't get pay the brands that much for hair." Missa closed her eyes and relaxed, sliding away the last of her reserve. Quiet moments like this made her realise why she broke jaws for a living. Rica, aware of the change of mood, took the chance to quickly hug her around her shoulders, a brief moment of affection to the sister who shrugged it off willingly.

Missa allowed Rica to darken her eyes with kohl and redden her lips from her paint box, secretly enjoying the attention; neither mentioned what would happen later on. They both did what they did everyday to survive, and both thought they were protecting the other from a way of life neither deserved.


	3. I See Something In You

The meeting with the Warrior Caste had quickly degenerated into a chaotic party, but what did Beraht expect if he held it at Tapster's? The Noble Hunters who courted them left with their marks; the rest of the warriors that remained were drunk, and the last of the girls looked around, unsure how to react. She noticed Rica and raised an eyebrow at a question unsaid; she was currently talking to a palace guard, and looked nervous.

Leske turned up then, dressed in his best leathers and his brahair rebraided. Missa rolled her eyes, and went over to him. "What you doing here?" He merely grinned and raised his eyebrow at the women present and she glared. "Don't be stupid, Beraht will-" and she looked around. Beraht didn't appear to care, either way, and already was drunk. He was surrounded by women, but Jarvia was by his side. When she noticed she was being stared at, Jarvia smirked and raised a mug in her direction.

Leske laughed and leant on the wall, finally looking over his friend. She had make up on and her hair was brushed, spilling down her back in an effort to remind him she was female. He poked at it with calloused fingers, and she slapped his hands. "New look, Miss? Make up? _Really_?"

She resisted the urge to wipe the lipstick off of her mouth and sulk at him. "I am female you know," she retorted.

"And it would do well for you to remember," said a voice duskily over her shoulder. Lina, a pretty blonde who had flirted with her all night, sauntered over to greet them. She ran a hand over Missa's arm, and fixed Leske a look of amused contempt. "But then, Leske always needed the obvious pointed out to him, hmm?"

Leske laughed at that and swept his gaze head to toe at the pretty Noble Hunter, a calculated smile on his lips. "Some things don't need reminding…" At that, Lina scowled and pushed him away.

"I don't think so, Leske. There's some ale going begging at the back, help yourself," Lina said, and gestured with her head. Her earrings caught the light and jingled in her movements, and Missa found herself staring, not even aware that Leske had left them. Lina noticed the gaze, and looped her arm around hers. "Walk me home, duster?" She asked. Missa half smiled at the invitation, wondering where it was going.

"Sure, I don't think Beraht cares either way what happens now. But…" She looked at her boss, who was laughing in uproar at something said by Jarvia.

Lina sighed, and patted her arm. "Go check to see if he can let you off the leash. I'll get my things."

She swallowed her resentment at the statement, and nodded. "Will check on my sister too."

The blonde smirked at that, and quirked her mouth into a smile. "She's fine… trust me on the matter." It was said to her back, as Missa was approaching Beraht's table boldly instead.

"Walking some of the girls home, boss."

Beraht eyed her blearily. "I say when they go home," he muttered, and spilt half his cup on the table when he pointed at her.

Missa shrugged, and put her hands behind her back. "You really want these girls loose in Tapster's now with this crowd?"

Jarvia whispered something in his ear, and reached for her drink. Her gaze was always calculated, no matter what she did. "Let them go, Beraht, we don't want them spoiled in the fun…" At that, she was waved off. She headed to her sister then, who was nervously thumbing a letter in her hands.

Missa sat on the table that Rica was trying to hide behind, and nodded at her. "Ready to go?" She asked, and frowned at her sister's watery smile. "You okay, Rica? I was going to walk you home, but if…"

Rica breathed and righted herself, and pocketed the letter quickly at her arrival. "No, no. It's okay. I'll-- well, I'll stay. I'm meeting someone." Missa frowned again, and Rica quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek; she tried not to close up at the display of affection, and nodded. "I'll be fine," Rica whispered. "Please, go. Enjoy yourself. I saw Leske earlier, go and have fun…"

She tried to shrug off her concern, and made her way back to Lina with another frown. Two other girls waited with her, and she nodded for them to follow. As they reached Dust Town, Missa tugged her dagger out of her boot and palmed it, ready for a fight; even though everyone knew they were Beraht's "property," hunger and greed made people stupid. While Missa wasn't looking for a fight, she would not refuse one if it was coming.

The two other girls were walked to their slums home, and she was left with Lena, who was currently fixing her an unreadable look. "Come on in, girl," she said then, gesturing to the door of her home. "I'll fix you a drink." Missa raised her eyebrows, then followed.

Lina's rooms were small, and she lived with her brother usually. She tried to think what his name was, and cleared her throat, oddly nervous. "So, uh…"

"Here, try this." Lina opened a wooden box and offered her something wrapped in paper. Missa took it, and frowned, and was laughed at for her reaction. Lina unwrapped the paper and withdrew a sticky piece of something, and put it to Missa's bottom lip. Tentatively she opened her mouth, and almost spat it out as her taste buds were assaulted by the sweetness of a honeyed fig.

"Woah," was all she managed, and chewed experimentally.

Lina laughed at her reaction. "I have surfacer tea too, if you want to try. Apparently they're meant to go together." Missa nodded, and then looked around the room. She had a lot of gifts, and was obviously doing well for herself.

"Sure. Who gave it to you?" She asked. At that, the other woman smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to know…" and at that she put a filled kettle over the lavastones,

Missa shrugged again, and sat down at the table to watch as Lina remove her shoes. "Not especially," she replied. "But it's good you're doing well." At that, Lina leaned over and kissed her once, tasting the leftover honey on her lips.

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose I am. Any day now I'll get that invite…" Missa slid a hand around a silk covered back, and breathed in the smell of her perfume. As Lina leant down for another kiss, the kettle started to boil with a shriek. A little sigh and the blonde wriggled out of her grasp and went over to the stove.

Tea was poured out, and Missa tasted it; it was like bath water, but she didn't want to offend and carried on drinking. Lina ignored her cup and was watching her from the other side of the table instead, a smile on her lips. Missa frowned, and then tried to fill the silence. "How's your brother?"

"Inhaling dangerous substances in mining tunnels because no other bastard will. All for little money, of course."

Missa quirked her mouth into a smile and took another sip. "Honourable for a Brand."

Lina snorted. "That's us Gatta's… Honourable to the core." She paused then, and ran a thumb over the marked stone of the table, playing with the flecks of tea that spilt there. "What about the Brosca's?" She asked.

Missa laughed then. "Sure, we're Paragons of virtue. You know what my sister does, and me? Obviously, Beraht has me helping old ladies here in the slums with their housework. And my Mother? Well…" Lina reached over and grabbed her hand. Missa flinched at the act of sympathy, but didn't turn it away when a finger trailed up her arm.

"What will you do?" She asked then. "You're a smart girl. Pretty too, even with all those delicious tattoos. I've seen you fight, and let's just say…" Lina leant over the table and kissed her again.

"Missa quirked her mouth into a humourless smile. "You're the fourth person this week to question my future."

"Probably because we see something in you." At that, Missa put her cup down and laughed and laughed, shaking her head. Lina went over to her and tugged her to her bedroom. She was pushed onto the bed, and Lina started to undo the buttons at her sleeves, the garment pooling to the floor as she unknotted the ties around her waist. Missa leant up on her elbows and smiled; Lina was a stunning woman, and she had no idea how she ended up in this position.

"That code, Lina? Want me to show my _something_ to you?" Lina had a plain silk slip left on, and leant over the bed at her. She trailed a manicured hand up her naked thigh and sighed in appreciation.

"Hmm, these uniforms. Such easy access," and at that, Missa pulled the smaller woman down for a rough kiss. There would be no more talking of futures, not just yet.


	4. Origins Of A Brosca

Missa was enjoying the feel of naked body close to her; hands were lazily stroking her hair, and she woke up slowly. She grabbed a wandered hand flitting across her shoulder and kissed it, then groaned as she realised she had to face another day.

With an annoyed moan, she swung her legs over the bed, and her companion grumbled as she pulled on her leathers. "You Carta thugs are all alike. Do your business and leave," Lina said with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at her.

Missa leant over and pecked her lips, pushing Lina's blonde hair over an ear. "I do believe our business went on for quite some time…" She was pulled down for a longer kiss, and she smiled into it.

"A little longer won't hurt you, then. Give me something to think about before I head over to the Diamond Quarter to get pawed at." Missa cupped warm, inviting flesh with a sad sigh.

"Sorry," she muttered into a pale neck. "You've kept me away long enough."

Lina rolled her eyes and rose, putting on a dressing gown. She waved her off in an irritated gesture, and Missa grinned. "Be gone, Brosca. Let me get ready in peace." Missa bowed mockingly, then left the house to face the rest of her day.

She was thirsty, hungry and worried about her sister, realising then she was a selfish bitch for leaving Rica alone without questioning her further. As she frowned at her thoughts, she saw Leske weave precariously down the street, obviously drunk. "You!" he pointed, then laughed like she was the biggest joke in the world. Why did they always run into each other? Was Dust Town really that small?

"You're as drunk as my Mother," she said wryly, amused at his staggering.

"And it's great." With that he put an arm around her, and laughed again. He kissed her on the cheek and she felt his bristles dig into skin.

"Enjoy the party then?" She asked, wiping her face off of his spit.

"Yeah, and you left. With three women. Oh man, what I could do with three women…"

"Duster, you wouldn't know what to do with one."

Leske knuckled her hair with his fist. "Never put you down as a moss licker." He grinned lecherously at her and she pushed him away. "Though it makes sense now."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Leske laughed again, then weaved off.

"See you around, salroka. Remember we got stuff to do later," and he finally staggered down the street, humming to himself. Missa shook her head, knowing he would be annoyingly chipper for work, despite having a few hours sleep; the bastard never got hangovers.

* * *

From one drunk to another, and this time Missa didn't want to deal with it.

"Damn it Mam…" She kicked an empty bottle and put it on the table. Her Mother was currently passed out on the cold tiles of the hearth, the lavastones now grey. With an annoyed huff, she checked the lava bucket for supplies. It was empty, which only meant her Mother had spent their heating money on gut rot again.

"You left," her Mother slurred, face flecked with ashes. Missa bent over her and gagged at the stench of old sweat, booze and sick, and rose again.

"Mam…" Missa started shaking her. "Mammy, wake up. Mam."

"Missa?" A voice called out in the other room.

"Hey sis."

Rica rubbed her sleep creased face, dressed in bedclothes still. She saw the state of their Mother and went over. "I'll deal with that. Go buy some more lavastones, and I'll fix us breakfast." As she lifted the drunk woman from the floor, she looked up. Missa could still see that she was tired. "Beraht is visiting us later," she added quietly.

Missa baulked at that. Rarely did their boss make house calls, and she was worried. "Why?" She asked, her voice rough.

Rica smiled nervously. "I… I don't know. The usual, I suppose."

The usual._ Keep your head down until I say aye, Brosca. You're mine, Brosca. I own you, Brosca_. Missa tightened her jaw and felt her stomach widen in anger, and for once did not let it die down.

* * *

Beraht came and went. The threats familiar, the words the same. Missa tightly wound her arms and glared at him, and he pushed right past her.

Rica told her she met someone, and it made her feel hollow. Something shut down, some part of her that made her cope. All was left was the roaring white of her anger, a rage that refused to die down.

She was wrathful. Leske tried to cheer her up, tried to bait her with words he knew she'd react to, would usually get him a punch in the arm or a cuff around the head. All he got was quiet anger, and it unnerved him.

Another merchant to kill, another job to do. When she saw Jarvia and Beraht with blood on her shaking hands she tried to still them, biding her time, trying to sooth the beast. She knew now that the surfacer was right, the one that looked her right in the eye as she killed him. There was no way out for scum like her, something had to change.

She wasn't like Leske, she didn't want to work her way up, content to be Beraht's lackey and Jarvia's puppet. She wanted them to die, for their blood to be on her hands, and she would enjoy it. She would take pleasure and inflict on them all the abuse and hurt she had done in their name to others, innocent or not.

Missa started to think then, her plan of escape. She would make her own Carta. She knew Beraht was sloppy in his work, and she could skim from his mistakes. It would be easy enough to disintegrate him from within; he was convinced she was the good little thug who did was she was told. She'd prove him wrong, though.

On the other hand, Jarvia would take some watching; perhaps that's what she would be in two years time- another Jarvia, slowly corrupting her way to the top.

She blinked at the words said and looked up then. Jarvia looked at her with disgust, and she shifted her gaze to Beraht as he spoke. "Do you understand?" He asked, annoyance etching his features.

She nodded her head once, and headed to the door, not saying a word. Leske muttered something contrite to them both, and ran out to catch her up. "Duster what the hell-" he muttered under his breath. She looked at him with dark eyes, and he kept quiet.

"Let's go," she said, and walked their way to the Proving, their last job of the day. After this, she would not to his bidding blindly.

* * *

The Provings were held in honour of a Grey Warden, and the man in question was easy to spot, being the only human there. Missa approached him, much to Leske's shock, and she thought he was courteous enough; they talked about nothing much, and she wondered why she did it.

They made their way to their job, poison in hand. The warrior Beraht had put money on to win the fight was currently passed out flat on his back drunk, and she laughed in the face of Leske's plan when he came up with it.

"Are you mad?" She asked flatly, and moved slightly as he started to shove armour at her, frantically looking around for more.

"If Beraht loses that money, we're dead! Pretend to be this idiot, you're always going on about how much of a hotshot you are with those daggers of yours..." He told her, grabbing her slightly, shoving her into a hauberk that barely fit.

She clasped the armour numbly, watching as Leske shook with nerves. He ducked into the shadows as she headed to the ground entrance, and felt him slap her back once. She was already annoyed at the extra weight and her vision being impaired by a cumbersome helmet, and shrugged uncomfortably on the balls of her feet.

It was stupid how easy it was. She looked up at the men and women in the stands, and the anger roared on, vitriol burning her insides at the braying crowds. They were meant to be better then her?

The fights were hardly worth the effort, even with the weight of metal pressing on her skin. This was the best the Warrior Caste had to offer? These useless streaks of piss? She had tougher fights in Dust Town.

Anger still burnt hot behind her eyes, and she raged. When the drunk warrior staggered into the ring and called her a fraud, she shook her head and gripped her weapons tighter. At that point, she snapped, and the kicks and blurs of the attacks from the guards only spurned her to fight back, to bite back harder at the ones that called her a disgrace.

She only went down when she passed out, finally overwhelmed. The last thing she saw was the Grey Warden look at her pensively, guards blocking his path to her.

* * *

It was not the first time she woke up in a cell battered and bruised. Usually it was in a guard house, and her time as a kid in Dust Town and as a Beraht lackey meant she'd seen plenty of prison chambers. She would be told to sleep it off with a cuff to the back of the head and then released in the morning, shuffling home to face the abuse of her Mother and the silent judgement of her sister. This time though, it was different.

Leske was with her, and she frowned. She hoped he had escaped, but there he was. Her ears were still ringing, and she realised then he was talking to her.

"We got to get out of here," he hissed through the bars. Jarvia had walked up to them then, and she knew her friend spoke the truth; they were left for dead. As their former boss gave them their death sentence, Missa found herself grinning. She was now free; her collar had been removed, and no longer would she jump to orders. Jarvia gave her an unreadable look and left, walking out of the cells quietly. Missa knew she would be following soon, and she focused everything she could into escaping.

Leske paced his cell while she dealt with the guard. Quickly she unlocked the doors and they found weapons, keeping to scant shadows to hide their exit. Missa had an inkling where to go, and where she was; while they were too low in the Carta to ever see Beraht's hideout, she picked up a few things from the rest.

They were caught, and as Leske backstabbed a man flanking her. Missa remembered him drinking with them once, and now they were fighting. She knew their names, and now they were corpses. She allowed herself one stab of pity, then moved on.

Gesturing for silence, she heard Beraht speak. Her gut twisted into knots as he mentioned Rica and what he would do to her, and before she knew what she was doing she charged in and had him by the throat, fury making her tighten her grip on her daggers.

She didn't know he was dead until Leske pulled her off from his corpse. He ran a hand through his braids and looked at her in disbelief. "I can't- duster, did you see what you did?" He let out a breath of air and gaped at her again, laughing. "That was insane!"

"Nobody touches Rica," she said quietly. Leske pulled at her arm again. She was staring at the carcass of her former boss, fists clenched.

"Come on, we have to go." She thought briefly about Jarvia, and pushed it aside. Missa would come back and finish her off later, because she knew Jarvia would do the same to her given the chance.

They found an exit and it led to a shop that she recognised. As she wiped Beraht's blood off of her blades, Leske opened the door. She was bemused as to why her revenge killing did not make her feel anything but anger. Her hands still shook from the ferocity of her strikes as she plunged her blades into him again and again, and she wondered when the rage would stop.

Leske swore when they were surrounded by guards, their exit hardly unnoticed. Missa spotted Rica in the crowds, and almost cried out. She was glad to see her alive and well, but thought she was a bad sister for not protecting her, for letting them be led by Beraht for too long. Missa just wanted to go to her and beg forgiveness, sorry for all the things she had suffered under his hands.

Numbly she waited her judgement, and it never came. The Grey Warden looked at her, and asked her to join is order. It was a way out, but not one she would ever think of in a million years. Leske looked at her in disbelief as she stuttered her objections. "Are you crazy?" He asked, after protesting loudly to the guards that she had just killed Beraht, that she was a hero.

"But what about you? What about-"

Leske shook his head, and hit her on the shoulder, interrupting her speech. "I'll be fine, duster. I always am. Now go. Jarvia will never find me." Missa swallowed the lie and walked away from him, heart heavy.

She faced Rica, then. She knew if she reached out and tried to hug her, she would break down. Instead she looked away, across the flickering light of the lava, staring at the statues of long dead paragons gazing down at her from their lofty position. "I don't want to leave you," she said. "I'm sorry for so much."

Rica shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm _happy... _I found someone, he'll look after me. He's already got me a place to live with Mother. Please go, please be the Paragon I know you can be."

Missa laughed once, and looked at her, eyes red. "Don't lie to me," she whispered. Rica hugged her then, and Missa stood as still as the stone statues mocking her, fists clenched.

"I'm not. I will be fine, little sister. Please, go with this Grey Warden. Live," and with that she grabbed her tightly bound hands.

Missa looked at the human then, who was politely facing away from their conversation. "I'll go with you," she said quietly, and she followed him blindly from the crowd, head down.

She left the Commons, and did not look back.


	5. Gifts

They had left the Commons straight away, before the occupants could catch wind of the street theatre and make her state of affairs gossip.

Duncan was keen to head back to the surface, and Missa did not argue. If they had stayed any longer, she would have talked herself out of the situation, and Missa would find herself back in Dust Town with her daggers in her palm ready for both the Carta and the city's guards instead.

The doors to the Hall of Heroes opened for them and she walked past the stern looking statues of long dead Paragons, immovable as granite. Her mind was slowly retreating further into itself; her cheap duster leathers were still covered in Beraht's blood, and Rica's last words were still stinging. The unflinching stare of the carved Paragons were adding salt into the wound, and she clenched her fists again, ignoring the pain in her hands.

"Why are you here, Brand?" A guard said, sauntering over. Missa looked up at him briefly and darted her eyes down, trying to force her anger into a more manageable place before she swung her fists out wildly.

"She is a Grey Warden," Duncan replied firmly, his voice having enough tone and timbre to carry through the hall. Reluctantly the guard backed away, but she felt his gaze on her still. Missa shrugged up at Duncan in response and carried on their damning walk to the last of Orzammar's gates, where she would finally see the surface for the first time.

"They let trash in now?" Was whispered at their backs, and Duncan whipped his head around. She grabbed his arm tentatively, and the exhausted look she gave reluctantly made him ease off.

"They only see the brand," Missa said matter of factly, and shrugged. Duncan frowned.

"When we leave here you are no longer casteless," he said kindly. She swallowed her bitter retort and nodded once, despite her thoughts. The human had no concept of Dwarva culture if he thought that; she would always be a duster.

Missa let the taller man walk ahead to deal with the guards opening the gates. It was colder here, and she huddled into herself to get some warmth. The merchants in the Commons always complained loudly about the weather to each other, and she was apprehensive at how she would cope.

The doors were open, white light spilling into the room. It took a while for her eyes to adjust, and she shivered further. "In or out," the guard holding the door said. "I'm not holding this open for my health."

Duncan gave her a look of polite expectation, and she walked forward. With a final clank the door was shut, Orzammar now closed to her.

If she wasn't so disorientated by the colder air, light and snow, she would've bitterly recorded the sounds and the sight of the gate finally closing as a macabre memento, and wallowed in the reminder of it on her journey down the path. Instead her mind was frantically trying to process the depth and height of the nothingness of sky for the first time, and she was not reacting well to it at _all_.

Missa ran a shaky cold hand to her forehead and closed her eyes shut, trying to beat the waves of nausea that came then, dizzy at the emptiness of it all. She was aware she was acting as foolish as a stunned nug, but when she opened her eyes to try again her gut greeted her with a lurch. Before she could stop herself Missa retched heavily, finally decorating the entrance to Orzammar with the meagre contents of her stomach.

Wiping her mouth she laughed once, then started to breath deeply again, frosty air filling her lungs. "A leaving gift," she said, grinning up at Duncan. He hid a smile behind a hand and nodded his head down the incline of the path. With one final shake she cleared her throat and caught up with him, walking past the bemused merchants and very angry guards with her head high. Defiance made it easier for her face her new life, and for that she was grateful.

* * *

The rest of the journey down the Pass was uneventful and silent. Missa was adjusting reluctantly to the foul weather and the pair of them did not speak, mostly due to her quiet and pensive demeanour. She was thankful that Duncan was giving her space, and when Missa started to thaw from both the cold and her own inner brooding, the first thing she said was an apology.

"Not needed," Duncan had replied, and at that she frowned.

Missa tightened her wool and fur cloak around her, a gift from him that she felt guilty taking. "I've barely said two words to you since we left, and, well..." She shrugged into her cloak again, annoyed that her movement had pulled it open to let cold air batter her again.

He passed her a strip of dried meat from his pack and she took it with now chafed and reddened hands. "The food is edible, but not exactly tasty. It's going to be very salty and tough, but it will have to do us until camp. I want us to clear the mountains before we settle for the night. We have to reach Ostagar as quickly as we can."

She shrugged and ate it quickly. It actually tasted fairly decent, but she had barely eaten over the past few days and any food would be manna from the Stone itself right now. "If it's one thing dwarves have plenty of with their food it's salt. Trust me, we use it to make dirt edible." He chuckled briefly, then chewed his jerky methodically.

Once he had finished his meal, Duncan looked at her. "How much do you know about the Grey Wardens?" He asked.

"That they recruit ungrateful dusters," she replied quickly.

He laughed once, then rubbed his hands at the cold. "That too. We are an organisation that takes all walks of life and there are many paths that lead to us. It is in that strength that we unify our movement. Darkspawn do not care of your title." She looked at the snow dappled floor then, trying to force all her thoughts of home behind her.

"Like the Legion of the Dead," she said. "Perhaps if you were not in the right place at the right time, that's where I would be," and as soon she said it she knew it was a lie. She would be either dead, or waiting for that death.

Maybe Jarvia would have caught up with her, or Orzammar's finest would of dealt with the dishonour she brought to the Stone by breathing. Missa wondered if it was even worth it praying to whatever Ancestor listened to casteless surface dwarves that Leske and Rica were safe, and her guilt made her dinner heave in her stomach again.

Duncan responded to her comment readily, not noticing her gloomy appearance. "You are a dwarf. Your people's war with Darkspawn is livid and daily, and you have an advantage over other recruits of knowing that battle already."

She grinned again, and her mouth quirking her next words with mischief. "I'm more used to fighting guards, ser."

He snorted at that, and had no more to say the matter.

* * *

Everything was new, and she felt as useless and as stupid as a gawping toddler walking for the first time. She could vaguely guess what things were- trees, for example. The tall baton like things that pointed to the sky weren't as interesting as she hoped, but she was shocked at the variety of them. Some were huge beastly things that waved their branches above their heads ominously, and she wondered how old they were.

Though it was the end of winter (according to Duncan) the leaves on the ground fascinated her. She subtly picked up a rounded one from the path away from her companion, attracted by the colours. With one dirty fingernail she stroked along the edge of the stem, and pocketed it carefully.

Her feet were finally getting tired, and she was glad when they reached a clearing near the base of the Pass to set up camp. He mostly did everything and Missa followed his orders when they came; she was told to find firewood, and at her frown he instructed her to get it as dry as possible. Missa did her task with grim precision and tried not to contain her anger at her own helplessness at being out of her depth.

There was only one tent, but Duncan opted to take watch; after a supper of warmed up rations, he started to put the tent up for her and Missa was annoyed again at how powerless she felt at everything. "You have to teach me a few things," she said bitterly. "I feel as useless as babe in my spit cloths still, this surface is too new." She kicked at her gathered wood in frustration, allowing herself to finally let go of some of anger she had been bottling up since leaving Orzammar.

Duncan flipped the enchanted canvas onto metal poles seemingly magiced out of nowhere and regarded her with unreadable eyes as she picked up her wood again. "The thing with anger and hate is that it only fuels for so long. You get sloppy, and make mistakes. I have no doubt you will learn, however."

Missa looked at him with defiance in her eyes, then made a gesture of frustration. "I think I'm fucking allowed some anger, don't you?" She was aware she was playing into his hands, being the self pitying victim he expected her to be, but she was too tired to fight civility any more. Today had been a very long, very varied day of experiences that her mind could only process in parts by shutting everything else out completely.

He continued putting the tent up, thinking over her question. "Traditionally when you join us your past is forgotten. You would simply be Warden Missa, nothing more, nothing less. Whatever happened to you, whatever you did in your life in Orzammar… It is the past. Do not allow it to shape and control your new life, Missa," he said quietly. Despite the volume, his words felt like the loudest thing in the clearing.

To her credit, Missa thought before she spoke out. She looked up at the sky then gasped as she saw the first of the night's stars, amazing at the clarity and beauty of them. Aware he was staring at her still, she shook herself from their gaze and faced him. "Then I will try to forget," she said hoarsely. "I still have family, but… It's not as if I can return and be welcomed with open arms by the rest of them there. My sister she… She understood, I think. Better then me, it seems."

As she said the words part of her guilt shifted from her, and distantly she put a bruised hand to the skin of her chest, looking back to the stars. It was awhile until Duncan approached her again, clearing his throat to snap her out of her gaze of the night sky. "I have a gift for you, since you have so few possessions of your own."

She looked at him curiously, a wrapped weapon in his hands. "You've done enough," she said, nervous at the generosity.

"Here," and with that he held the weapon out to her. Tentatively she took the offering, and unwrapped it. It was a well made mace of good weight, and she recognised one of the seals as Aeducan.

"Been stealing from the palace, Duncan?" She retorted.

He laughed, and Missa could see it reach his eyes. "Perhaps. No, this is from Warden Forel. An Aeducan, I believe; related to your king, perhaps."

She knew better then to throw the gift back in his face, and she looked up at him. "Fancy. Me with a royal weapon. I could get used to surfacer life."

He stood up straighter, and headed past their fire. "That's a warden's weapon," he corrected, voice firm. "And I know you will continue his proud example. Good night, Missa. Get some rest; I aim for us to be in the Hinterlands by the evening tomorrow, so try to sleep."

She nodded once, and went into the tent with the mace still in her hands. As she lay down with her cloak wrapped around her, sleep found her as soon as she settled. She did not know she slept with one hand rested on her gift, fingers curling instinctively around the mace like a child with a comforter.


	6. The Last Two

_She could not see, but felt wet on her face. Her body was screaming in agony, and it took awhile to realise the mewling whimpers were from her._

_"Hold her still, child. Dwarves need more power behind your spells."_

_She could smell blood, and guessed it was her own. She felt her body wrack in another spasm, and Missa finally saw black again._

* * *

Everywhere, so green. The colours of the fields, despite the overcast skies and gloomy light, were vibrant still. A booted toe poked at some burgeoning crocuses at the lip of the path, and she smiled to herself. "It's pretty," she told him, not even bothering to hide her wonder this time. "Around here, I mean. Everything is so…" And she trailed off with a shrug, embarrassed at her own enthusiasm.

"My Father was from Feralden originally. He often spoke fondly of the rolling green hills of the Hinterlands, and I know what he means the longer I stay here. He failed to mention the rain and mist of this country though, but Maman did. Constantly. But she was Riviani you see, and she hated Feralden."

Missa frowned, trying to remember something some merchant spat in her face once when she was begging in the Commons with Rica as kids, something about Riviani people... "Explains your colouring," and at that she subconsciously touched her hands, as dark as him.

He noticed the gesture and shifted the straps on his backpack to even out the weight. "Yes, though I am not as dark as my Mother was."

"My Father was… Well, I never remember him, but he was a vent cleaner. He used to come home blackened head to toe from soot apparently, and my Mother always used to joke that he would be just as dark underneath once he was clean. My sister… Huh, she says I look like him, but I wouldn't know. I've always been called suntouched since I could crawl due to my colour, so I might as well live up to the reputation now I'm here…"

She exhaled then. That was the most she had spoken to him today in their travels, and offered up a crooked grin before they slipped back into companionable silence.

Missa adjusted the hold of her new mace and chewed thoughtfully at the jerky from her pocket. She walked down the path in front of them not thinking about what she left behind, but what was in front. For once the past was brought up and dropped without too much suffering, and she was too distracted by the beauty of what was in front of her to notice.

* * *

_Darkspawn spreading as far as the eye could see. She could see some of their faces, the teeth the claws the fangs… The stench seemed real enough, were these her Ancestors? Rica said once surfacers close their eyes to sleep and they wake in another world, was this it?_

_Missa watched as a female soldier, still alive but barely so, was dragged by her hair underground into tunnels. She screamed, and no one came. Missa could not reach to help her, to even fight her way to her path… Darkspawn or no, she knew what that woman was about to go through, and hate and anger at her own helplessness made her screech in rage that she could not move, seemingly stuck in one spot._

_She was forced to watch instead the macabre theatre of them, corpses like puppets. Bodies were ripped and rent, greyish entrails spilling out of warped flesh. Organs were passed around and fought over like felcats spitting over garbage. They spoke in a form of grunts and growls, a cacophony of snarls and violence that she could read as easily as her own tongue._

_The remains of the dead at Ostagar were played with, abused, thrown around as easy as toys, strung up like trophies. Bone and sinew and flesh fell like butter to claws and hands made for destruction, and they revelled in it. This was their victory, their battle cry._

_She was forced to watch over and over, and could not close her eyes._

* * *

This was their last night before they would arrive at their final destination tomorrow evening. and it was her turn to watch camp. She did not care, as the stars were out so brightly that night. Duncan was also tired; she knew he did not get much sleep during their journey, and she rather firmly told him it was her turn at night watch duty.

She stood by the fire as he went into the tent and tried to listen around her; the animals and the environment made noises she wasn't so used to, but Missa knew what footfalls sounded like; humans were about as subtle as broncos in their walking, and while she knew it would be too late before she recognised a animal attack, she could listen out for bandits quite comfortably.

She liked Duncan, and the offer he gave her suddenly made sense and could be put into place. She wanted this, and finally felt she could cope on the surface. While her new eyes still gawped at seemingly trifling things, she was surprised at how easy it was to adjust and put things into prospective.

They would be in Ostagar soon, and she would prove her worth to these Grey Wardens. For now though she allowed herself to indulge in her star gazing, permitting herself one last decadent sweep of the starry night with an unhidden smile.

* * *

_Can't look away, can't look away. She tried to look up, to see stars, to see something familiar. She was noticed then, and her stomach went cold with fear. Did they see her?_

_One lone emissary knew of her presence, and he tilted his head from side to side, sniffing the air around him, trying to work out where she was. His hands glowed with the tainted corruption of his magic as he tried to find her, sensing her as viscerally as she could see him. She found herself pulled away, the world fading and slipping by into whiteness, stomach rushing…_

_"Ah, I see she returns with us. Quickly girl, bind her wounds."_

_Missa tried to move, but couldn't. Her eyes fluttered in the effort of trying to open them, and she gave up trying. A cold hand was placed back her forehead, and she tried to flinch away, bones sinking into sand._

_"These are the last?" She heard another voice, female too._

_"It would seem." More murmuring then, and the dull ache of her chest splintered into what felt a thousand needles of pressure as she returned into her delirium._

* * *

She finally opened her eyes to light, and she rose a bandage covered hand to shade them. With a grunt she sat up in bed in nothing but her smalls, everywhere itching and aching, trying to gauge her surroundings and if she was safe, to find her weapons and a way out.

She remembered then. Arrows in her chest. The Ogre. Watching Alistair fall as she lay bleeding, finally passing out in pain. The beacon, they lit it… They did light it, right?

The battle… The remains of Ostagar, did she- was what she saw, were they dreams, the same that humans had?

Someone was in the room with her, cat eyes appraising with curiosity as she tried to right herself. She rose to her legs steadily and clenched her fists, ready for a fight, then remembered; the witch from the Wilds, the one who made Daveth quiver into his boots.

"Morrigan," she said after awhile, looking at the witch, finally placing her. She found her leathers -cleaned and patched, she saw- and put them on gratefully, trying not to dislodge the bandages on her chest.

The woman merely rolled her eyes and gestured outside. "Your friend and Mother are outside," she said at that, and turned her back to her. She frowned trying to work out her words, and opened the door. Alistair. The look of relief and pain and grief etched on his face made her raise her eyebrows.

"What happened?" Was all she managed in his direction, angry then. She flicked a glance to the older woman by the fire, knowing they were being watched. She looked him over, this human man, her fellow Grey Warden. She mostly thought he was a fumbling boy when they first met, but she did not judge his skills as a warrior. Not after the tower.

It was his first battle, she knew that then. Missa forced herself to remember the first time she saw blood and bodies, and pushed down her irritation at his trauma to somewhere manageable. Alistair ran a hand through his hair, eyes raw and tired. "I- everyone, all dead. We- got out, and… Duncan and the others, they're gone."

Duncan, meeting the King, Teryn Loghain refusing to look her in the eye… She tightened her fists and looked at the ground. "Loghain… I don't understand most of human politics, but… He retreated, right?"

Flemeth spoke then, and Missa apologised straight away when she realised the woman saved their lives. Morrigan was a kitten to her mother; those similar amber eyes that watched her were revealing nothing and everything at the same time, and that thought alone made Missa nervous. "The Blight," she said under her breath. It was happening, it had to be. Darkspawn won that day, and the images she saw were real.

More words spoken, Flemeth pushing the conversation to where she wanted it. "The treaties," the witch said, and Alistair's whole body changed to that of relief. A plan, something they could do. Just the pair of them expected to tidy up the mess the humans playing at war decided to leave? Missa put her hands on her hips and glared across the water, knowing there was no way out of it now.

She reached into her pockets then, and felt something papery. Pulling it out, she realised it was the leaf she picked up on the Pass during her journey to Ostagar, picked on the sly when Duncan wasn't looking.

When the three of them walked to Lothering, she crunched it in her hands and let the remains fall to the ground, annoyed then at her naivety of her curiosity. Alistair had retreated back into himself, and Morrigan -who Missa couldn't quite work out if she would be leaving at this town when they got there- was equally as quiet.

It suited her just fine.


	7. Foraging

Missa was freezing again, shivering against the chill of the overcast weather. Her cloak had been left behind in Ostagar, like everything else there. The Wilds Morrigan led them through were overgrown and swampy, her legs constantly getting scratched by the thorns and prickles of the shrubs that threatened to trip them up each time they moved forward.

Irritably she itched at insect bites on her skin; the marshes did not agree with her, and for once since her time on the surface she hated being outside, loathing the wildlife and her situation. Happily she could be sitting by the heat of the lava right now, instead of the blasted wet of the Wilds.

It was pointless trying to talk to Alistair; he had retreated back into himself, and when she tried to eke out a conversation he ended it shortly, a frown heavily etched on his forehead. Morrigan viewed her with bright, intelligent eyes expectantly every now and then, but Missa wasn't sure how to approach the woman just yet. Both were curious of the other, but unsure how to speak about it.

Feeling she had recovered from her injuries, she picked up the pace and started to run a little, trying to test her stamina. She saw Morrigan's startled expression as the witch increased her gait to catch up, finally past the swampy underbrush and onto solid ground. Alistair jingled in his splint mail behind them, not saying a word about their new change of pace, gaze seemingly stuck to the ground still.

"Any reason we're running?" Morrigan asked testily.

Missa looked to her right slightly and grinned. "I'll slow down a little," she said, amused that her shorter legs could outrun the mage.

As they slipped into a slower jog, Missa shaded her eyes against the light to see farmland up ahead. "'Tis abandoned," Morrigan said. Missa shrugged, not knowing how Morrigan knew this. She didn't question it, however.

"Supplies," she said softly, hoping there was something edible in the buildings.

Morrigan scoffed. "We steal from peasants now?"

Missa's senses prickled, and felt like she was being watched. Goose bumps trailed up her arms and she frowned slightly. It was an odd feeling, and she couldn't place it. "What's left behind is ours," she said grimly.

"So! This is what the mighty Grey Wardens have been reduced to, is it?" At that, Missa just laughed at the woman, small teeth glinting. Morrigan looked at her in bemusement and shook her head.

"Since both of us have only a few silver bits to rub together," she pointed out, "and the fact I could frankly devour half a scabby bronco right now, I don't care. Whatever there is to eat I will gladly take."

"Precious little, I imagine. Will we be stealing their furniture too?"

"A cloak would be nice, I'm freezing," Missa said wryly.

At that Morrigan chuckled and waved a lazy hand in circle. The air around them rippled slightly, and Missa felt heat tingle around her exposed skin, warmth filling her bones. Whatever her face showed was enough for Morrigan to gesture in irritation. "You will not turn into a toad," she spat back.

Missa laughed at the witch's reaction, and it was loud enough for Alistair to snap from his brooding. "What?" He said, looking at the pair of them with a frown.

"Please turn me into a toad, Morrigan. You can put me in your pocket and carry me, I'd be much warmer then." She thought of Daveth then, oddly. She had no idea why and shrugged it off quickly, before regret made her as reclusive as Alistair.

The joke was not shared by the witch, and she stomped on ahead past the barren ground of the farmstead away from them both, taking the warmth with her. Alistair looked at her then. "What was that about?" He asked, briefly rubbing his hair.

Missa shrugged up at him. "Witch thing, I don't know." His haunted gaze returned, and he looked tired again. She resisted the urge to sigh and touched him briefly on his elbow. "Come on, let's go forage for some food."

* * *

The supplies were as meagre as Morrigan predicted, but it was enough to fill her belly. There were a few wrinkled apples that were edible with the bad cut out, and some hard cheese they had managed to find in a grain room near the main stead; the house was already ransacked, everything of value taken. Missa felt a tiny sliver of guilt at following a well trod path left by bandits, but the sharpness of hunger quickly made whatever lingering morality she felt disappear.

It was something familiar, and it amused her that it was still the same on the surface. She knew it was easy to bend morals around hunger and desperation, because principles did not fill empty bellies or somehow magic food on the table.

"This isn't exactly a good sign," she said to Morrigan. Carefully she vaulted over a rickety fence, apple in one hand, gesturing to the eerily quiet and darkened roads around them.

"Lothering will fall to darkspawn soon enough," the witch replied.

"Huh," was all Missa managed. They walked in silence some more, then her senses prickled again with that odd feeling she felt earlier in the day, the sense of being watched. She twitched like a cornered fellcat briefly, and Alistair looked up.

Flashes then of teeth and claws, a growl, bodies corrupted and twisted in blackness… She rubbed the bridge of her nose quickly, then sneezed.

"I… feel something," she mumbled. Missa crouched slightly, and a sturdy dog lopped the ground towards them, closing the gap between them fast. It barked once and skittered excitedly, bouncing on well muscled legs.

Her senses jumped again and this time she caught her breath, finally working it out. "Darkspawn," and at that Alistair nodded at her, ready.

She didn't even think. Daggers out she ran forward, the dog at her heels; it was a small band, and she grinned up as she dodged the leader's swing. "Are you an idiot?" Alistair yelled at her, slamming his shield into a Hurlock's face. "Do you just run in and hope for the best?"

She kicked the nearest darkspawn in the gut and laughed at his reaction. "Tried and tested," and at that she ducked as a genlock swung a mace near her shoulder. It barely missed, and she ran a dagger through his throat.

Missa smelt sulphur in the air and a flash of white light went past her. She gawped as the witch singed the darkspawn in front of her with her magic, but it wasn't over. A straggler ran past them, and Missa tried her best to hamstring him as he passed. She heard Morrigan laugh and in a gesture that looked almost as elegant as a dance she disappeared, the air around her a haze of heat.

"What exactly…" She started, then gasped. Alistair put a foot to the corpse on the ground and pulled out his sword, noting her confusion.

"Right," was all he managed. Where Morrigan had been was now a spider. Missa dropped her jaw open and watched as Morrigan -that was still Morrigan under the fangs and legs, she hoped- rip apart the last remaining darkspawn with powerful mandibles, one last massive bite killing it.

The spider disappeared and the woman returned. Missa whistled in appreciation at the damage done, eyebrows raised. "Well now. What else did you learn to do in the Wilds, Morrigan?" She asked.

The witch smirked down at her. "A great deal. But let us move on, yes? Lest the darkspawn catch wind of us."

"That's not an image that'll haunt me in my dreams tonight. Nope, not at all," she heard Alistair mutter behind her. Missa hid a smile behind her hand, and the dog barked at them, fur splattered with darkspawn blood. He had done his share of the fight, too.

Missa frowned and waved him off. "Shoo," and the thing whined. She groaned when she realised where it was from, and looked down at him as it panted happily at her, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. "Why did I get the flower?" She said to no one in particular then.

Alistair actually smiled. "It's a mabari. you're imprinted, lucky you. At least something survived Ostagar," and at his own words he frowned, the quirked half smile at his lips disappearing. Morrigan made a little sound of irritation and glared at his sudden gloominess.

Missa looked sternly at the dog currently whining at her, ears down. "Great, another mouth to feed." The mabari sensed a victory and danced happily on his paws, barking again loudly. Missa shushed him and he licked her face; she was short enough for him to reach, and she wiped off dog drool with a crotchety growl. The dog ignored the protest and licked her hand with a wag of a stumpy tail, and she sighed again. "Don't make me regret this," she said, ruffling his ears.

They fell back in to the gait of Missa and Morrigan at the front and Alistair at their backs, this time joined by the dog. Missa smiled up at Morrigan, still stunned by her abilities. "Why are you looking at me in that way?" The witch asked irritably.

"I'm impressed is all," Missa said with a crooked grin. "You can fight." Morrigan rolled her eyes at that. "What else did your Mother teach you?" Missa pushed, trying to get a conversation out of her.

"Enough to help you with your task," she replied shortly.

She didn't let it go. "That Mother of yours…" She started. Morrigan looked at her expectantly, and Missa continued. "Well… She's not all she seems, is she?"

Morrigan snorted at that, and tightened the grip of her staff. "What does she seem to you?"

"A crazy old woman who mumbles to herself, to be honest." Missa knew she was more, but wanted to test Morrigan's reaction. It worked, as the witch gave a genuine laugh, and soon warmed to her. Flemeth's tale was told, and while Missa wasn't so sure what to believe of it, it did explain a few things. Morrigan gestured wildly as she mentioned Osen, Conobar and Cormac, and Missa tried to read between the gaps of the holes in the plot. How was Flemeth so old, and yet alive?

"'Tis perculiar you've not heard of such a tale," Morrigan finished, cheeks flushed. She looked a lot younger then, and Missa smiled, thinking of how little of the world she knew outside of Dust Town until recently. "What of your Mother?" The witch asked, and Missa laughed and laughed as she compared Kalah to Flemeth in her head.

"Sorry," she said, hands held up in apology at Morrigan's confusion. "Nothing you said, just… My Mother is a drunk whose only concern in life is when she can get a drink in her hands. She cares for nothing else, really. It's finally rotting her brains now though, so, eh." Missa shrugged. "The old girl doesn't make much sense anymore." She sensed Alistair listening in their conversation, and turned around briefly to smile at him.

Apparently the pair of them found it awkward enough, and she shrugged at the stillness offered. Morrigan tried an ungainly attempt at sympathy, to which Missa only smiled at, letting silence fill spaces instead.

* * *

They arrived at Lothering, and the disdain both Morrigan and Alistair had for each other finally snapped and the pair started shouting. They had just dealt with some opportunistic bandits who had the decency to make Missa laugh in their attempts at thievery, so she let them go- after taking what the acquired, of course.

Missa grew tired of the bickering. "Would you two like to go sort this tension out some where private to get it out of your systems, or do I have to play go between first?" She teased. Alistair's face was red from his outburst, and Morrigan threw her a glare that could curdle blood and mostly suggested she'd rather kiss the dog.

But it was enough to silence them, and Alistair tightened his jaw. "What do we do?" He asked her. She took the request with raised eyebrows, and blinked. She understood then. She would be in control here, and the thought didn't unsettle her as much as she hoped.

"The treaties," she said wearily. "Elves, mages and dwarves. Right? I'm sure Orzammar will welcome me back with open arms once I explain everything," she muttered.

Morrigan crossed her arms and looked away from them both. "There's still Arl Eamon," Alistair added, and at that Morrigan scoffed. Missa frowned at that, and finally shrugged.

"Give me the map," Alistair gave it to her, and she spread it out on the floor in the middle of the steps. She sat next to it and the dog pressed a wet nose into her ear happily, and she pushed it away with a scolding.

"What's closest?"

Morrigan laughed shortly. "A fine idea, well thought out," the witch spat at her.

Missa offered her a crooked grin and ignored the barb. "We got to get around to everyone eventually, right? Might as well make a head start."

"The- the Dalish," Alistair said quietly. "The Brecilian forest is to the east of here, a few days walk. They'll be a tribe around, perhaps. They can get word around that we need them."

She tried not to laugh at the thought of striding into a forest to talk to some elves about a dusty old promise their ancestors made, but they had to start somewhere. "Well now," she said, getting up from the dusty floor with a sigh. "Sounds like a plan."

It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.


	8. Infections That Linger

Lothering brought them two more followers to their cause, and Missa did not turn down the help. One was a giant of a man whose willingness for redemption she recognized all too well. The other was a human who -although mostly crazy- was as quick with daggers as she was. Missa just wished she didn't insist on singing at the weirdest of moments.

It wasn't hard to find the Dalish, even after half a week's travelling through unfamiliar forest. The hardest part, however, was getting them to agree on the details of the treaty.

Perhaps their reticence had something to do with the foul weather, or the fact half their tribe were dying. Whatever the reason Missa had held her tongue, bid to help them politely. It wasn't going to be as easy she had hoped, but when was it ever? She had to scratch their backs before they scratched hers. Life on the surface was not as dissimilar as she initially thought, and she fell into her role as leader of their little ragtag band with the familiar ease of leading a bunch of dusters into petty crime.

"It's pissing it down," she said, corpses of wolves by her feet half sinking into the mud around them. She flicked her blades once and the rain watered the blood on the steel of her daggers. The Dalish enclosure was half a day behind them. She was irritated enough to leave them to drown in their misery.

"Yes it is fairly persistent," Alistair replied, causing her to roll her eyes as she wiped the rain from her face. Morrigan had tried to enchant their gear to be at least partially waterproof. The new leathers she acquired from the Dalish camp, though exposing some of her skin, were magicked by the witch to trap some warmth within the folds, and Missa crookedly smiled as she remembered Morrigan's awkward acceptance of her thanks.

She cursed again and pulled her cloak tighter as she felt droplets escape down her back. "Come on," she said. "Let's find some werewolves to slaughter."

* * *

The quiet and eeriness of the forest escaped Missa's notice; how would she know what a proper forest was? The discomfort of her companions felt in the rather spooky surroundings, however, she noticed readily.

The spirits of the group were at an all time low. There was little to do for morale, and it was still raining. Everyone was miserable, damp, and only able to dream of the possibility of being dry and warm. The weather and habitat did not treat them kindly, and the natives resented their presence.

They had stumbled into a quiet clearing and Missa knew something was up, despite her senses feeling blinded by the forest. Roots whipped at her face and she threw herself into chopping down seemingly alive trees intent on choking her to death, shocked that her small blades did damage.

Once everything was dead and still, a deep, strange voice rang out.

"'Tis a talking tree," Morrigan said, pointing out the obvious as another living sylvan waved his branches over their heads.

Missa looked up at the oak and blinked. "Urgh," being all she managed, running a hand through her soggy hair. "You're a tree. That talks." She growled in frustration when she realised she was parroting Morrigan's child-like words, and looked at her companions in disbelief.

"There are many wonders in this world the Maker has created, no?" surmised the bard. At that Missa and the witch exchanged a look and politely ignored Leliana.

She resisted the temptation to sit down and instead shoved her hands under her arms, her face a picture of polite puzzlement as the tree talked to her. _Acorn this. Acorn that_. "Right. Your acorn. I get your acorn back, got you," she interrupted, bowing politely to the Grand Oak. The rest followed her out as she half tumbled out of the grove, still bemused by the situation.

They all walked in silence, and then Alistair spoke up. "That did happen, right? We're on a quest to get an acorn. For a talking tree."

Morrigan shrugged and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her. "Probably a trapped mage, who knows. 'Twas old magic I felt there."

"That was once human, Morrigan?" Leliana asked, blue eyes wide and curious.

The witch made a sound in annoyance. "Or elven, considering. No, for an inanimate object such a tree, there has to be a spark of life, or a soul if you will."

"Mage or not, we got to find his acorn. Which could be a euphemism for something I don't know about yet, or…" Missa started, as she wiped the rain from her face with a tired hand.

Leliana politely hid a smile behind her hand. "Well, acorns are seeds."

Missa looked slyly at Alistair, the only man in their party. "You ever lost your acorn, Alistair?"

The warrior sighed good naturedly before grinning at her. "Oh no. You're not getting me involved in this particular line of conversation. You'll twist my words and before I know it I've said something wrong and you're all furious at me. And if it's one thing I've learnt from the sisters at the Chantry, it's not to make women furious. Doesn't end well for anyone, trust me on the matter." Missa returned his smile with a wicked one of her own, and then pursed her lips. Sometimes he made it much too easy.

"The way you breathe is enough to make anyone furious," Morrigan spat back, only causing him to return a glare.

"Sorry, I'll just stop breathing quietly over here, shall I?"

"If it will stop your incessant noise," the witch replied. Missa subtly walked in between the pair before they started anything. Leliana continued to bear that ever present warming smile of hers, eyes twinkling at Missa's actions.

"Oh really, Alistair? So you've never planted your seed in fertile ground…" Missa asked, turning on her heel and walking backwards so she could face him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"I… uh… That's disgusting," he stated half-heartedly, colouring his cheeks.

Morrigan made a sound of loathing and strode ahead. "I do not want to think of the fool planting anything _anywhere_, thank you."

Missa chuckled, and went back to walking forward. "Suit yourself." At that, she shot a look at Alistair over her shoulder. He was still looking at her, and she saw something in his hazel eyes that warmed her. Missa was convinced his gaze were was lingering still when she turned away from him. The attention left her feeling gratified.

However, a stab of guilt reminded her of her duty and the tough road ahead. She made the mistake once of sleeping with Carta members when she first started out, and it had not ended well. Gossip had a tendency to undermine and influence, and Missa knew very well the names women were called if they had the audacity to enjoy sex. She picked her tumbles carefully; mostly it was with people she knew would keep their mouths shut after or with pretty young things who were outside her authority and didn't care who knew.

Another sigh encroached but was bitten back between a tightly closed mouth. She picked up the pace a little, legs slipping slightly in the mud. "Onwards to camp. Acorns can wait 'til tomorrow." With that she caught up with Morrigan, keeping the exasperated witch company for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Sten and Dog guarded their makeshift camp. She was annoyed to see it was as damp as the rest of the forest, and as she edged closer to their site the latter raced in front to greet them. Dog chased a circle around her when he reached her feet, and she rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes. I've missed you too. I do hope you did you job and kept the beasties from our camp." The dog barked once in what she hoped was a reply. Sten walked up to her, interrupting her reunion with her mabari.

The Qunari gestured across the camp, seemingly unfazed by the rain. "There was a lone wolf. It was thin with hunger, and I consider the death a mercy. I wonder if the allies you seek here are strong enough, dwarf. This curse the elves speak of festers the land and all who live here." The warrior crossed his arms, back straight.

"Oh," was all Missa said. She was not sure what to reply and blinked a few times before speaking. "Well, good work with the wolf."

Sten pointed to the mabari by Missa's heels trying to garner her attention by dropping a stick by her feet. "It is he that did most of it. He is a true warrior and knows what it is to fight. We are alike, he and I." Sten replied.

Missa smirked at the opportunity he just gave her. "Yeah? He also licks his own balls, Sten. Can you?" Missa asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

The Qunari glared down at her and uncrossed his arms suddenly, violet eyes framed in anger. Dog barked once, oblivious to the situation. She chuckled and ruffled the mabari's ears and he wagged his stumpy tail furiously in happiness. "Want me to scratch your belly too?" She grabbed the chain mail around Sten's side and patted it – like dog, like Sten…

"_Pashara_." Sten stalked off in angry strides, muttering under his breath. The dog's head butted her in the leg as she snorted in amusement then nodded her head at the departing Qunari. She threw the stick in his direction and the dog just watched it go, looking back at her expectantly.

"Go follow him, he'll only sulk otherwise." With a bark Dog happily chased after Sten, who did not once break his step to let the animal catch up. The mabari picked up his stick on route and continued to dance around his heels, and she smiled as she saw Sten take the stick and throw it again.

She went to stand next to Alistair under a tree, who had watched their interactions with amusement. He was trying to protect himself from the elements, hunched under dripping branches and looking as cold as she was. Missa huddled into him as far as she could politely, using him as a windbreak. "You know, perhaps it's me… But provoking a very large man convicted of murder and patting his belly doesn't exactly seem the most sensible of things to do," he said, looking down at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Since when are you sensible?" She retorted back and he laughed once. A drip from the branches above landed in the gap of her cloak and she muttered her disgust.

Alistair held his shield over her then. "My lady," he said in a bow.

Missa grinned and nodded her thanks at the makeshift shelter. "I'm no lady, salroka. But thanks all the same."

"Slanderous lies!" he exclaimed.

She snorted, knowing he was only teasing, and took her cap off her head, wincing at the damp that somehow manage to reach through the leather.

"Has anyone told you that mouth of yours will get you in trouble?" Fingers raked through her hair and she muttered as they got caught in tangles.

Alistair looked down at her and grinned crookedly. "Plenty."

If Missa had been honest with herself, she would have had to admit she did not know what to make of Alistair. The pair of them had not gotten completely comfortable with each other yet, but the important things they were at least clear on.

He allowed her to lead and so far respected her judgements, and she had long since stopped asking his opinions on things. However, he always seemed to be on the edge of saying more. He was holding something back, or so she_ suspected_. It was too much of a trauma to push him to speak up and she couldn't be bothered to push matters further. It was far easier to have willing subordinates who did what she said and asked, but occasionally he would say something that would cut through the insecurity and she would be impressed.

Sometimes Missa agreed with Morrigan when Alistair got too loose with his mouth. Nonetheless she much preferred ridiculous Alistair to the catatonic, grieving man he was after Ostagar. He still had a tendency to close up into himself, but he was proving to be a good person to have by her side in battle. They fell into an easy rhythm in moments of combat and she trusted him completely at her back. Missa only had that once with Leske, and it was nice at least to have it on the surface with someone.

Alistair cleared his throat and she felt the warmth of him as he bent in a little closer. She resisted the urge to mirror his movements and put her cap back on irritably, hiding her hair again. Missa thought of the last time she actually felt someone next to her. The memories of Lina came back, and she smiled. As she was lost in thoughts of soft skin and tumbling blonde hair and -sweetest of all- a warm embrace in a bed, the rain came down harder. She sighed. "Blasted weather," she muttered.

"Hah. Welcome to Ferelden, I'm afraid. Typical of our springs."

"Duncan said as much," she offered shortly, then mentally kicked herself for mentioning his name. Carefully she peeked up at the man. He smiled at her, albeit a bit sadly, and adjusted the hold of his shield. Alistair looked to say something else but was interrupted by Morrigan's call from across the camp. She groaned once and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and ran over to the witch. But not before bestowing a final smile upon Alistair.

* * *

The werewolves were easy to find, and so apparently were acorns. Another week passed, bringing with it more rain. The ruins offered some respite from the weather, but held more weirdness and oddities that Missa could only cope with by filtering it through humour. Oh look, walking corpses, _how hilarious_.

Once they reached the centre of the hideout and met the Lady, however, her mood changed. She had looked the supposed leader of the Dalish in the eye and saw the bitterness and desperation eating him whole, and she recognised the despair and frenzied bite of the underdog as she faced the werewolves. For her, the choice was simple; Zathrian had to die.

A wound left by him made her left thigh ache still, and the three day walk back through soggy forest was not going to be pleasant. She already knew she had to lie about Zathrian's death to his people, and that he had to die a hero. She swallowed her disgust at the thought, and carried on walking.

They had sheltered again for a moment under a fractured marble building, a relic from Tevinter times. Sten had pointed out with some disdain their origin, and Leliana passed around their lunch with stories she knew about Tevinter legends, much to the Qunari's disgust.

Experimentally she flexed her sore leg, and winced. As she stretched herself further, the dog whuffed quietly, ears perked. She looked at him curiously, not questioning his instincts. "Trouble?" She asked, and Sten withdrew his sword then. She could sense something tainted, something corrupted… Like darkspawn, but not.

Missa sneezed once, and at her movements the mabari shot forward in a ferocious bark. A very large, very angry bear greeted them, stumbling wildly in pain. Dog aimed straight for the throat and was knocked aside by a large paw, yelping at the blow.

Missa darted forward and leapt, landing squarely on corrupted fur. She pressed her daggers into rotting flank and held on as the bear rose in agony, growling his pain. She was thrown off with a twist, a dagger still lodged in the animal's belly. She rolled quickly as a paw was brought down, but was not quick enough. Sharp claws grazed her back and she cursed at the contact.

"Why do you not wait?" A voice yelled. Alistair charged shield forward, sword arm aiming a thrust into the creature's flank. A kick to the side brought the bear's attention to him and Dog shot forward and gripped his vicelike jaws on a brutish front paw, dragging it down smartly to his level.

Wolves circled, hungry and snappish, tainted as the bear that Alistair was currently fighting. They had emerged from the trees, eyes clouding over in corruption and pain, waiting for the right moment to strike. Arrows and magic flew past her as Leliana and Morrigan dealt with them; Sten swirled his sword, decapitating a lone wolf intent on flanking Morrigan's side, and Missa grinned as she retrieved her dagger, adrenaline pumping the pain away.

The bear was still alive and angry. She leapt on his back again, and using her weight she dragged her remaining dagger down, cutting a path down stinking, infected flesh. She was thrown again further, and she managed to twist slightly as she hit a pillar of the ruins, head snapping back against marble.

"Urgh…" She tried, then collapsed. The last thing she saw as she slipped into concussion was of Alistair looking up at the bear towered over him, shield half raised.

* * *

She saw a face framed by red hair, and blurrily she tried to rub her eyes. She was warm and she could smell perfume, and her eyes had yet to focus.

"Rica?" She mumbled, and realised her mistake when she heard an Orlesian accent murmur something instead of her sister. She shook her head to try and stop the ringing, pulling herself up by Leliana's hands. Blood dripped down her side, and the pain in her back throbbed. "Huh. Still alive."

Dog bounded over and licked her leg, happy to see her up. She leant on him and he wriggled at the contact, pleased. Slowly she made her way over to the rest of her party, everyone standing. Everyone but Alistair.

She awkwardly walked over him, holding onto the mabari for support. Missa tried to bend down to reach him, but her wound twinged painfully enough for her to see white dots. "Alistair?" She asked, and tentatively poked him with her boot.

Morrigan laid a glowing hand over him, then sighed in annoyance. With firm fingers she pulled back his eyelids. "Fool," she heard the witch mutter, then looked on incredulously as Morrigan slapped his cheek hard, sharp enough to leave a handprint.

"Interesting bedside manner," Missa remarked once, the noise of the slap loud enough to make everyone look around. She grimaced as she carefully knelt down and started to unbuckle the mess at Alistair's side the bear had made, gratified as he started to stir.

"M-Maker…" Alistair muttered, waking up slowly. Morrigan went over to inspect her back while she knelt over him, but she waved the witch off.

"Glad you're alive, Salroka." He focused on Missa then, blinking furiously to try and right himself. She realised then that his splint mail had done the job, and his side was clean. She removed a glove and felt his head carefully and checked for injuries. "Looks like you and me both will have bruising," she said softly. "But eh, just our heads. Maybe it'll smack some sense into us."

"You never wait," he mumbled again. Armoured hands grabbed hers from their quest and pulled them to him. He held them for longer then he should, and Missa didn't quite know what to do. Carefully she pulled her hands away and rose with a yell, biting her lip as the cuts on her back throbbed in protest as her movements.

"Let's move when we're ready," she said, watching as Sten dragged the corpses of the rotting animals away from them. "I have had enough of forests."

* * *

They had walked away from the Dalish heads held high and pockets deeper, onwards to Redcliffe with the realisation that this was _real_ and _happening_. Missa and Alistair had managed to get some new armour for their troubles, and the new leather dug into the wounds left by the bear irritably, her shoulders and back feeling on fire.

They stopped as they reached the outskirts of the forest, finally seeing open fields and breaks of sky for the first time in weeks. Sweat poured down her face and she sunk to the ground on weak knees, finally giving in. She looked up at the horizon and saw the first of the evening's stars greet them, lights twinkling faintly.

"Look Alistair," she said, eyes focusing briefly as he stood over her, face concerned. "The sky is full of diamonds…" It was the last thing she said as she collapsed, pain pushing her into darkness.

* * *

"Turn her so I can see her wounds."

"I've got her," A deeper voice against her said. She felt it rather then heard if first, and she murmured a nonsensical reply. She for once felt the warmth of another body in the first time in months, and pulled herself in further in the embrace. The pain laced her back and realised where she was and what was happening, and she dragged herself out of his arms.

She mumbled an apology, embarrassed by her contact. She found herself being held down then by both Alistair and Leliana, mortified that she was wriggling like a trapped bug. Sweat dripped down her face, and cold hands pushed her down again onto her stomach.

"I said keep still," Morrigan said harshly. Over her shoulder the witch was holding a sharp knife, and she breathed through the pain, her skin on fire.

"What are you doing?" Missa said then, voice low and flinty.

"Saving your life." It took all the control she had to go limp. "I have to cut out the infected parts," and at that she felt the point of the knife touch her skin. "Why did you not let me tend to your wounds earlier? But no, like an idiot you insisted you'd be okay, as foolish as your simpleton friend."

"I trust you," she said quietly. Alistair had backed away at her words, bringing the cold of the night inside as he left them. "Please don't ruin my tattoos. That'll annoy me." The witch muttered under her breath and began to cut away the contaminated flesh of her wounds with a firm hand.

Missa did not scream. She was proud of that. Instead she looked at the stars poking though the gap in the tent, and allowed herself to be blinded by them, a shining distraction from her pain.

Tomorrow was another day, and she was still alive.


	9. The Kindness Of Strangers

The wounds on her back had been reduced to a dull ache. Morrigan insisted she swallowed a frankly disgusting concoction that made her sleep for most of the day, and she woke up -for _once_- hot and sweaty, blankets trapped around her legs irritably.

Missa shifted on her stomach slightly and sighed. There was no getting back to sleep, and she was too agitated to try. Frustration and restlessness found her writhing against her bedclothes, bothered by her insomnia and pain.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered, yanking her hands out of her breeches. Nothing was working, and trying to ignore the stinging jolts of pain on her back she rose. She was vaguely covered enough by her bandages to have nothing exposed, and she tightened the laces of her clothing before leaving her tent. A shirt was frankly too much effort right now, and the cold night air seemed a better idea.

She let the wide open space cool her down for awhile, enjoying the night. Dog spotted her then and the mabari bounded over to greet her enthusiastically, a wet nose was pushed against her bare stomach. She shushed him, conscious of the rest of the camp. A jingle of mail followed and she knew if she looked up she'd see Alistair.

Whatever showed on her face was enough for him to look away suddenly as she faced the man, despite standing next to her by the light of the campfire. Missa shuffled over to him barefoot, awake enough to talk.

"You need something?" He said. "You don't have to be up tonight, you know. You are allowed a night off."

"I can't sleep," Missa replied shortly. Her back throbbed again, and she made a sound in irritation. Her hair was damp with her own sweat, and she pushed it over her shoulder where it wouldn't irritate her injury. Dog butted her leg again and she scratched his ears idly.

"You've been out all day snoring quietly to yourself. No wonder."

"I don't snore," she snapped back.

"But how do you know?" He chuckled. "How does anyone know they snore?"

"I've shared a bed with plenty, salroka. I'd think I'd know by now, hmm? Someone would've told me."

"Well, uh, yes, I mean..." She didn't have to look up to know he was blushing.

"What about you? Have you ever… Hah. Found out if you snore or not? Who knows what you got up to with the other Grey Wardens and that Chantry of yours, hmm?"

Alistair chuckled. "I don't, but I used to share with this one chap from the Anderfels, he could raise the roof with his snoring. Honestly, it was like sleeping with a bear."

"Didn't realised you liked manly bears," Missa said with an eyebrow raised. She knew he didn't exactly mean that, but it was fun nonetheless to assume. "No judgements of course…"

"I… Wait, I didn't mean…that, exactly. And I, uh, don't like men. In that way. Not that there's anything wrong with that sort of thing, just…" Alistair looked sideways at her grinning face and returned a smile good naturedly. "You're very good at twisting words, you know," he said wearily, used to her teasing now.

She chuckled at his reaction and shivered slightly as the air dried the sweat on her body. Mocking Alistair was fun, and worth staying out in the cold for a little while longer. "It's a talent. Pity you don't like both, you know. Double the fun, double the chances."

"Or double the rejection," he said quickly. She punched him in the arm lightly, bare fists clanking against heavy armour.

"Ah, you make me laugh. You're a funny one, Mr._ I've Never_." Dog nudged her again, gently reminding her that she stopped her fuss over him. She rolled her eyes at the mabari then, trying to sidestep the drool that he was currently snuffling onto her bare feet, apparently finding them interesting enough to lick.

"I've never what?" He shot back, and went on to chatter on about wyverns and lampposts, eyes warm with humour. She let him ramble on until he asked her something.

Missa had spent enough time on the surface to get the clumsy innuendo. "If you want me to boast about my prowess, well… A lady never should kiss and tell," she told him resolutely.

Alistair laughed loudly, forgetting about the camp's other residents for a moment. "I thought you said you weren't a lady?"

Missa turned to face him then, dark eyes unreadable. "Good for you I'm not, but there's such thing as discretion, you know? I suppose I can be vague, just because it's you." She walked up to him close then, her smaller body almost touching his. To his credit he didn't back down, but look down at her with a smirk of his own, albeit a bit nervously.

"Oh? I await on hearing your experiences,_ my lady_."

She thought then of how far she could push it, them returned his smirk with a leer of her own. "I've not only licked several lampposts, but the pavement and possibly the stone statue in the middle of the square. I've also experimented with benches, and this one time? An entire street, cobbles and all."

It was very rewarding to watch him trying to work out the metaphor, wondering where his mind was going. "Right. Good to know," he said a little too roughly.

"Night salroka." At that she turned on her heel, only to be called back.

"Wait, what does that mean?" He asked.

"What, salroka? Means friend, in a round about sort of way. Kind of like a comrade, but not. 'I'll watch out for you if you watch out for me,' that sort of thing."

"Oh. Well. I'll definitely do that, then."

Missa thought he had enough teasing, and knew it would never end if she fired back with more suggestion. "Goodnight, Alistair," she said firmly.

As soon as she hit the bedroll Missa was asleep, though this time with a smile on her face.

* * *

Blood was on her hands again, and this time she was angry at her guilt. It had no place and she did right, but it did not make the remorse lessen despite it all.

Redcliffe was meant to be painless. It was meant to be easy thanks to Alistair's apparently familiar connection, something that when he mentioned she reacted to by laughing. The rest of the journey was spent mocking him cheerfully, calling him a royal bastard just because she could.

It was meant to be an added strength to the treaties they were trying to organise, and they only deviated here because she trusted her salroka on his words, that this Arl Eamon would add a solid political presence as well as more swords to their army.

Their group had helped Redcliffe from more supernatural beasties that frankly she had little patience in dealing with, agreeing in part with Sten and Morrigan that they should ditch and run. But she couldn't, not really. Surface life made her question her actions, the endless sky and constant light refusing to throw shade on her exploits. She could not hide in the dark of Dust Town anymore from what she had done. Everything was accounted for here, and her new conscience prickled her unnervingly.

Besides, she liked the people here. She saw the quiet strength the people had, exemplified in the likes of Bann Teagan and Ser Perth, right down to the cheery barmaid from the inn. They wanted to fight to save their homes, and how could she fault that?

When the source of the seemingly magical invasion was revealed to be the Arl's own son, she knew she had to make a decision quickly. Whatever possessed the boy was slowly gaining control, the moments of the child's clarity getting briefer as the hours slipped by.

Missa believed in Jowan, despite the apostate starting it all. She looked him in the eye and saw the remorse there, at the pain at what he did. But she had to make sure. Once the possessed boy -she would not call him by his name, not yet- was tranquilised and lucid once more, she gestured for Morrigan, Isolde and Bann Teagan to go into a dining room just off from the main hall.

Jowan sat there waiting his fate with a broken calmness, hands twitching nervously in a filthy robe. Teagan clenched his jaw tightly when he noticed the apostate, and raised his eyebrow at Missa, ignoring the desperate look Jowan gave them.

"Why am I here?" Morrigan asked loudly.

Missa looked at her shortly, then rubbed her temples where a headache started to form. "Because I trust your opinion, and I don't know anything about magic." It mollified the witch slightly, but she still rolled her eyes. "Tell us about this rite of yours again," she aimed at Jowan.

"We are trusting this man?" Teagan asked quietly.

"That remains to be seen, which is why Morrigan is with us." Teagan looked at the witch and back to Missa again, and she could see what he was partially thinking; Morrigan had not exactly gone out of her way to be pleasant to anyone during their time here.

Jowan ran a hand through his greasy hair, and breathed in deeply. "A sacrifice is needed. It's the way it works, there has to be a payment." As he went into the details of the spell, Missa watched Morrigan, trying to gauge the witch's opinion and work through her own.

"I will do it," Isolde said instantly then. Missa wondered if all Mothers would do the same without thinking, and thought of her own bitterly.

"Morrigan?" Missa finally asked, pushing away her memories.

"Seems correct, yes, but I am no expert in such matters. There are many ways of entering the Fade however, but this is the quickest."

"Other ways-" the Bann asked, but was interrupted. An explosion sounded through the castle, and the walls themselves seemed to shake. "It seems the thing has awakened," Morrigan stated, purple fire dancing around her hands.

"I thought he was stabilised," and the four of them jogged down to the noise. Alistair raised his shield and slammed it into a shambling corpse that had appeared seemingly from nowhere, face red.

"Oh, nice of you to join," he said to them. "We're having a wonderful tea party, there's even cake." Missa aimed a kick at a pile of bones attacking his flank, and drove her daggers through the base of a hollow skull.

"No time," she said to herself more then anyone. "No time at all."

* * *

The ritual was done. Morrigan had done the dirty work of entering the Fade, Isolde's blood staining the cold stone floor. Missa paced the halls of Redcliffe castle, haunting it. There was no sleep that night, and the people she passed were as vacant and nervous as she.

Bann Teagan noticed her, then caught her attention as she walked past a library. "Grey Warden," he said, rising from his chair. A few candles sparsely lit the room. She entered, suddenly nervous somehow.

"My Lord," she said with a nod. He offered her a glass of something, which she refused.

"Come now, don't make me drink alone," he offered with a anxious smile, eyes tired. Missa sighed then, and took the goblet offered, pretending to sip from it.

She didn't quite know what to say. What could you say to someone in the situation? Instead they sat in mutual contrition, Missa trying desperately to silence the apologies on her tongue.

"It is done," a voice from the door said. They both looked up to the hallway to see Morrigan, but the witch left as quickly as she came.

"The boy lives," she said quietly. Bann Teagan gave her an unreadable look, but something like relief sparked in his warm eyes and Missa allowed herself one shred of guilt to disappear then.

"I will arrange the funeral," he said after awhile. "The body must be sent to the Chantry for anointment and the Sister's blessing."

Missa let the words sink in, and nodded once. She did not move from the chair until daylight found her.

* * *

She made sure she watched the funeral boats being pushed out to the lake, watching bodies float away on calm waters. The Arlessa's barge was filled with lilies and crocuses, the flowers of spring. Her maid had put the woman in her wedding dress, and Bann Teagan pushed the boat out himself, wading through the muddy water up to his waist.

Alistair took one look at Missa then and walked away, disgusted at the situation. He had already yelled at her, venting his anger and rage at her actions. She stood her ground and let him say his piece, and when she tried to persuade him it was the right course of action, he backed down an inch. He was still furious at her, driven by some hurt and a ghostly harm she could not see or work out yet.

"I need a drink," she muttered under her breath. Missa had separated herself from the family of mourners, trying not to on encroach onto their personal grief.

"I understand the inn is open," a voice said behind her. Ser Perth stood in his armour then, his helmet tucked under one arm. She remembered the man in battle, and how nervous he was around her when she spoke. Missa thought it strange that of all the people here he would approach her, but right now the comfort of strangers seemed the welcoming option.

"What we want and what we have are entirely different things. I want a drink, but I shouldn't," she said gruffly. She was bone tired then, done thinking of things too heavily.

"Ah. I think perhaps I understand."

"I don't drink," Missa offered by way of explanation. With a nod she left him, trying to separate her remorse from her duty.

* * *

The stars shone so brightly that night, and Missa was glad. She could not sleep again, and wandered the halls of the castle once more until she ended up outside, hiding from everyone.

She was not completely alone, however.

Ser Perth had remained on the balcony of the castle, trying not to think of the repercussions of the day. Instead he looked up at the stars again and let himself be bewitched by the light, trying to distract himself by remembering constellations and patterns. The firework smoke that a few revellers near the inn had let off had finally cleared, and he was grateful; he found the action distasteful, considering the state of the castle and the lingering effects of the Arlessa's death.

"A copper bit for them," Missa said to his side. Turning sharply, he saw her sitting on the buttress edging the balcony, shadows obscuring her face. When he realised it was her he bowed instantly, and Missa quirked her mouth into a wry grin at his reaction.

"My lady," he said. He adjusted the fit of his pauldron and found himself unconsciously standing straighter, readying himself for orders.

She had her legs crossed and was eating an apple; he had no idea how he did not notice her before, but she told him once if she didn't want to be seen, she wasn't. "Hello Ser Perth." They both looked up at the stars then in companionable silence, and it was a while when she spoke again. "You know, I still can't get used to it. I have to sneak away from the others to watch them, as they mock me. Star struck, they call it."

Perth looked sideways at her, and watched her watch the stars. Something made him want to touch her face, to run a finger along her tattoos, but he stopped, cursing himself at taking part in the drinking when the cider jug was passed his way. Perhaps this woman was right, the dwarf who was currently bewitching him. Not drinking was a_ fine _idea indeed.

"I was born here and they still amaze me," he said, clearing his throat, awkwardly dealing with his sudden desire.

"Leliana told me they mean something, that there are pictures in the sky. But to me they're like... Diamonds thrown on a bed. Or stalactites glinting in the dark." The moonlight caught the blackness of her hair tumbling over her shoulder and he clenched his fist to stop himself from touching it.

"Would you… Would you like me to point out some constellations? I know a few." She took another bite of her apple and smiled sadly as he approached her. She wanted comfort so desperately, to feel something.

"I would like that," she replied quietly, looking him over avidly.

From her position they were shoulder to shoulder for once, and it made it easier to face her. She smelt of apples and leather, and her hair had a sweet smell he could not place. "You see those three straight stars in a row?" He pointed to the sky, and she following the direction with a frown. "Just below that is _The Warhound_. See the legs?" She smiled, looking slightly unsure.

"I'm not sure," she said, trying to see an animal in the points of light. She leant into him, her head resting against his gesturing arm, trying to see if they were looking at the same thing.

He swallowed in nerves at the proximity of her. "It's… It's not very dog like, I know. But my tutor always used to say that it's not what the constellation is, but what it could be. I never knew what he meant until later."

She lifted her head and continued to eat her apple. "That's a very interesting way of looking at things. But I still think I like my version."

"Diamonds on a bed?" He said roughly. She frowned then, knowing where this was leading. Missa tried to work out her guilt about what would happen next, and finally pushed it away; the comfort of strangers indeed.

She smiled suddenly, things clearer then. He could see her teeth glinting in the dark. "Perhaps." With a final chew, she ate the apple, core and all.

"You eat that like my Father," he said then, trying to steer the conversation away from the little trap he was so dangerously falling into.

"Hah. Yes, apparently it's another thing you surfacers find amusing about me."

He leant further into her, as if in conspiracy to something. "I'll let you into a secret. Most humans never notice their own failings and find it easier to point out the differences in others. We're an insecure lot, deep down."

What happened next they both had no clue on who started it, but oh Stone did she want to, desperately. Apple scented lips were placed on his, and roughened hands pushed into her hair. He found himself deepening the kiss, pulling her to him.

Teeth bit his bottom lip, and he moaned into her mouth. Shocked at his own noise, he pulled away, reluctantly marvelling at how they were intertwined, how her legs had made their way around his waist. "My lady… Warden, I'm sorry. Forgive my intrusion." He made to move, but a hand grabbed onto his shoulder.

"Nothing to forgive. And my name is Missa." Almost conversationally, she added: "what's your first name, Ser Perth? You never told me."

"William." Missa was still leaning against balcony, but she was looking at him and he could just see the wetness of her lips and the glint of her eyes.

He had no idea how he ended up in her embrace again, but he was. Another kiss, and quick hands found chinks of armour to wriggle under. "Well, William," she whispered in his ear, "we can either do this here, or somewhere warmer."

"I- but, my Lady…"

"_Missa_. My name is Missa," and she kissed him again. "Please, give me this. I want you, do you want me? Don't make this a problem, there's no problem, is there?" She placed a trail of kisses along his jaw, whispering in his ear.

Whatever clinging reserve he had left to duty was shattered, and he sighed into her hair. "We should not be caught. Considering the day," and at that she kissed him deeper, arching her body against his. He breathed in her scent again and sighed.

"I can follow you to your rooms. I can be discreet," and she pulled away and tucked hair over his ear. The thoughts in his head at what he could do with her finally pushed the last of the distance between them and he nodded.

"Then… then I will see you in a moment." Reluctantly he dragged himself from her embrace and walked the distance to the barracks, glad that most of the soldiers were out enjoying the party still and that he had the privacy of his own space.

He headed to the entrance of his rooms and she suddenly slipped in front of him, appearing from the shadows from stealth. He closed the door quickly and bolted it, oddly nervous. William was aware then of their size difference, and didn't know if he was meant to bend down to pick her up or stoop to her level.

Sensing his distress, she sat down on his bed and waited, illuminated by one lone flickering candle. He pulled his armour off and placed it on his stand as he did every night, making sure everything was in the right place. She watched him with unreadable eyes and waited for him to approach.

She scooted further along the bed and he followed, feeling naked even though he was wearing his cotton under shirt and breeches. Missa led down on the pillows and looked up at him, hands on her stomach. William placed a larger hand over hers, and he found himself tugged into her embrace. Lips found his and he relaxed, finally kissing her. He rolled over and found the smaller woman arch against him.

Hands between their bodies lifted off clothes and armour; she pushed him away slightly and removed a hidden dagger with a chuckle; it turned into a moan as his mouthed at her breasts through the fabric of her breastband.

Impatiently she yanked off the last of her clothes and he ran delicate fingers over the dip of her waist, running them along a firm thigh as he continued the reverence of her breasts with his mouth. She placed a hand on his length and he buckled into it, grinding against her. A knee separated hers and she arched again, moaning into his neck.

Slick in their own sweat they found each other then; fingers calloused from weapons entered her and he marvelled at the wetness and tightness, oh Maker the tightness… He leant over to take her other breast in her mouth, and she cried out loudly.

He kissed her roughly to silence, and defeated the purpose when he moaned himself as her hands twisted like _that_. A slight pull at her knees asked her if she was ready, and she smiled up at him her answer, opening her legs wider as he knelt in front of them. "Go slowly," she said. "You're bigger then I thought."

His thumb quickly swiped at her the core of her and she moaned. Leaning on one hand, he used the other to guide into her, and felt her legs impatiently push him down further.

They were still for a moment, then she gave a little sigh and he found himself moving; they both grunted and moaned at the motion, and Missa bit the little beard he had on his chin, laughing at the joy it all then, meeting his thrusts with just as much vigour as he was giving.

She yelled something incomprehensible into his shoulder, something he didn't catch, her voice low and guttural. William felt her clench around him and he snapped his hips harder into her, feeling his own peak coming.

Finally he saw his own stars and he collapsed on top of her, arms buckling then under the pressure of his weight. When his heart rate slowed he rolled to the side of her, aware again of their size difference.

Missa opened her eyes and faced him. He finally ran a finger over the tattoo on her face, and she kissed it as it reached her mouth. "A bed of stars…" He said, reverently placing a kiss on her shoulder.

With a sad smile, she leant into him, enjoying the simple joy of warm skin against warm skin. "I told you my version was better."

* * *

She left his room in the early morning. It was an odd thing, really. While she was no stranger to mutually brief and entertaining sexual encounters, what happened last night was less about lust and more about comfort.

It was something they both appeared to need badly, and she was glad. While she doubted they would do it again, it just happened. Sometimes it was good not to question gifts when they came, but to simple let things be.

She had to find Alistair, to right issues between them now before they were left to fester. While she knew he would never agree with what she did, Missa hoped he understood her intentions. As she asked quietly around the castle grounds where he was, she was glad they would be leaving soon, despite the repercussions.

Missa found him then in the stables, above the empty stalls in the hayloft. He looked down at her, and she could see strands of straw and dirt cling to the simple tunic and breeches he usually wore under his armour. "Can I come up?" She asked.

He had his hands over his knees, head bowed into himself. Alistair gestured with his head to the ladder to the right, and carefully she climbed it.

"We're leaving in a few hours," she said quietly. "You got a little longer to yourself. We're meeting at the windmill to set off. You are coming, right?"

He pulled a piece of straw from his tunic and fiddled with it in his hands. "Of course," he replied shortly.

Alistair ignored her still, and she pulled out the necklace she found in the Arl's study during her tortured walks of the castle during the night of the ritual from her pocket. "I found this, salroka," and he looked up sharply at the name she called him. He frowned at it first, then worked out what she was offering.

"Where did you…?" He took it from her offered hands with a confused frown.

"The Arl's study." She rose slowly and dusted her leathers of straw, looking around the place where he used to sleep as a boy. "I'll leave you to it." Carefully she went down the rickety ladder then, jaw tightly clenched in emotions she couldn't exactly place.

"Missa, wait." He looked down at her once, the necklace still in his hands. "Thank you," he said quietly.

There was more she wanted to say, but didn't. "It was no trouble."

She walked out into the sunshine and headed back towards the village, for once her thoughts not swimming in regret.


	10. Lovers, Mothers, Friends

Missa was walking with Morrigan on their way to Denerim, trying to think of something to say. While they all fell back into the cliques they kept to while travelling, the witch was currently not in a good mood and suffered her company under silence.

She gave up trying to talk then, and rubbed a hand at the back of her neck. A ghost of pain whispered across her thighs at the movement and she thought of the bruises that lingered there, unaware she was smiling.

Of course her actions did not go unnoticed. "I am glad one of us had a good time while I was doing your ridiculous dirty work for you in the Fade," she said snippily.

Missa fixed her a short look in disbelief, thinking of the funerals and the broken state Redcliffe was left in. "I doubt that, Morrigan."

The witch poked the bruise forming on her collarbone. Missa patted it, angry at her sudden embarrassment. "Bastard," she muttered. Ser Perth had obviously left his mark, and Missa pulled the cloak around her quickly to cover it up.

"Indeed." Morrigan was still glaring, this time at the floor. Missa worked out then why the woman was annoyed with her, thinking back to the night of the ritual. She had spent the hours hand wringing, finally meeting with Bann Teagan in his study for a mutually contrite vigil while they waited for news. Missa could see then how the Witch would connect her apparently obvious demeanour to her time with the visibly flirtatious Teagan.

They walked in silence for a moment as Missa started to kick herself mentally. "Sorry Morrigan," she said after awhile.

Morrigan continued to look affronted, and gripped the hold on her staff tightly. "I don't know why you're apologising to me on such matters. 'Tis none of my business."

Missa looked around to check no one could hear their conversation. Leliana was singing to Sten and Alistair walked in front with Dog; everyone was oblivious to the pair of them. "I don't mean …that, exactly. I mean about the ritual Jowan and you did. If I could have done it in your place, I would've. But… I assumed you would do it. And I'm sorry I didn't really ask you properly."

The Witch rolled her eyes. "I'm sure," she replied icily.

Missa frowned and chewed a fingernail. "Yeah. Well, I know Redcliffe wasn't exactly a bundle of laughs for everyone. Things were a bit grim."

"That remains to be seen. Tell me of this grimness you experienced, hmm? Will it help defeat the Blight, I wonder?"

Missa laughed loudly and freely. Leliana looked over her shoulder and caught her eye, looking at the outburst inquisitively. "This? From you? Of all people? You're judging me on that?"

Morrigan backed down a little, flustered. "I merely meant-"

"I knew what you meant. Don't begrudge me a distraction, Morrigan. Stone knows I needed one."

There was never going to be an apology. After awhile, however, Morrigan spoke up again. "Was he at least worth it?"

Missa thought of slick, sweat covered backs, a muscled torso and broad, biteable shoulders. "Oh yes. So very much." Morrigan chuckled, and the subject was dropped.

* * *

Leliana decided to sing after their meal; a common occurrence, but this time Missa was listening in. As the bard finished with a strum of her lute, she made a show of applauding. Leliana bowed elegantly and placed her lute reverently on her pack, taking out at little wooden box containing her tools used to clean and oil her instrument.

"What was that song about, Leli?" Missa asked.

"That one? Oh, it is bittersweet- it is about a Mother's love. It was in Orlesian, but the meaning is the same in all tongues, no? '_Maman chérie tu m'as donné, un jour la vie qui est là dans ton coeur… Je sais maintenant pourquoi tes pleurs, Maman je te dis merci_.'" Leliana spoke the lyrics instead of singing, and looked sad. "I thought it was fitting to sing. Considering…"

Missa let the words sink in for a moment. "What does it mean?" She realised that she was probably not going to like the answer, but asked anyway.

"Ah, let me see. It does not translate well into Fereldian, but… 'Mama dear you gave me life, it is there in your heart. I know why you cry, Mama, and I thank you.' It is a song about the hardship of being a mother, and I sing it from the point of view of a loving son who finally realises the love and sacrifice she gave him."

"Love and sacrifice," Missa repeated hollowly.

Leliana was no fool, and could see she was upset. "The burden of being a mother, or so I am told. I do not remember much about mine, but I know I was loved. I have come to terms with this and count myself lucky, when I realised that many do not get even that." The bard flicked a quick gaze at Alistair, who stood apart from them, refusing to take part in the conversation.

Missa found she was tightening her hands. "That's… That's nice, Leli. Really, it is. Thank you for singing it." She rose quickly, and walked away.

As she walked past Alistair, he stopped her. "I think we, uh, we need more water and wood," he said awkwardly. She looked up at his face and pulled out of his hold, knowing he wanted only to talk.

"I suppose." The pair walked on, and Dog decided to join in on their ramble; Alistair tried to find dry wood on the ground and the mabari looked at him expectantly, waiting for a stick to be thrown. They made the short distance to the stream, and she filled their waterskins quickly.

"Your family…" He started to ask. "Do you have one? I remember you saying something about your sister and mother." Missa stopped then, hands on hips. If she wasn't currently trying to process the guilt she felt every time she looked at him she would have bitten his head off by now.

"What about them?" She said shortly.

"Just... What are they like?" He finally threw a stick for Dog to chase.

Missa clenched her fists harder. "I suppose it's only fair you ask."

Dog returned and Alistair threw the now slobber-covered piece of wood away from them again. "Actually, never mind. I didn't mean to pry. I only ask, because… Look, I don't exactly have a family. My Mother died and my Father, well… You know. The Arl and his wife," and at mention of Isolde his voice hitched slightly, "it... It wasn't normal. She was... Well, I was nothing to her, some kind of mistake she didn't want around her home. So I don't know what normal is, you see."

"It's all right," she said a little quickly. "I'm probably not the best person to ask about this, though," and she though of Dust Town and her broken little childhood. "Not all mothers are worthy of being sung about."

He was silent then, and Missa knew he was thinking about the pendant. "I… wouldn't know."

She refused to look at him and watched the babbling stream instead. "My mother is incapable of anything that resembles what Leliana was on about, so I wouldn't know either, salroka. If I found out she died today, you know what? I wouldn't care."

He shifted on his feet slightly and heard his oiled armour sound in protest. "That's harsh," he replied. Missa looked up at Alistair and nearly snarled, tempted to vent her own bitterness and rage at him just like he did to her.

She calmed down, and somehow she was talking again. "Really? Probably is. Daughters are meant to love their mothers, even if they're drunk hags. Is that right?" Her dark eyes glittered then, goading him to answer.

"Forgiveness is good for the soul, or so I've been taught. She's still your mother."

Missa walked away to put a distance between them so she would not do something stupid. "I was beaten if I said something she didn't like. I begged for forgiveness then. I told her that I was sorry."

"I'm sorry, I... I had no idea," he said sadly. She shrugged at that and smiled humourlessly.

"Eh, who does? Not everyone wears their suffering like a badge, Alistair. I'm still alive, and she can't touch me anymore. That's all I need to know."

He looked smaller then, and fiddled with the strap of his shield before speaking. "What did she do to you?"

She laughed once at that. "Enough, though I didn't get it as bad as some kids. One time she so was drunk that she managed to crack a blow to my head, and I bled everywhere. I screamed so loudly at the sight of it I woke the entire street, but head wounds usually bleed a lot, right? I must've been eight… I think? Maybe younger. I had to pretend I fell over. I did a lot of that, before I knew how to fight back anyway."

She paused, glad he wasn't talking. Missa didn't exactly want to keep on, but somehow she was. "I can't fully close this finger," and she pointed it out to Alistair then, "because my hand got slammed in a door. I think that was for I knocking over her drink once."

Dog whined at her and butted her leg. This time she picked up the now-soggy stick and threw it across the stream, refusing to face the pity Alistair was showing.

"It's interesting," she continued, voice calm. "It was never my sister that got it, always me. I shoulda grown up resenting her, but Rica… She protected me in her own way. Practically raised me, to be honest- despite being a kid herself. I didn't know what I did that was wrong most of the time, but it taught me to fend for myself as soon as I was able, and it taught me that sometimes _you _have to look after you as no one else will. Rica wasn't everywhere."

"Your sister? Where is she now?" He asked quietly.

"Safe, I think. If I know Rica, she's found a way to live. It's what we do. You and Leliana," she said then, allowing herself one moment of bitterness, "you have it easier."

"Really?" Alistair replied roughly. Dog gave up trying to badger them into throwing his toy and led by her feet, panting.

"Because you can put your Mams on a plinth and they can be paragons of motherhood. You can pretend what they were like, and look back and not know. And not remember."

"It was all such unending misery? I'd rather have something then nothing." Alistair crossed his arms defensively and she raised her eyebrow at his movements.

"And I'd rather have nothing," she snapped. "I would have killed for your life when I was kid, salroka. I really would have. So many times I went to bed and prayed that my Mam would disappear when I woke up."

"That's… Missa, I'm sorry I brought this up," and he closed the gap between them.

She laughed again and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand briefly. "Why? I'm not sorry, not as if I can change the past. I've learnt to deal with it, and it taught me how to look after myself. Something you should start doing for yourself, Alistair." She poked a gloved hand onto the breastplate of his armour, and he let his hands hang limply by his sides.

"Was there nothing you had back home?" He asked.

Missa thought about the good times, where there was food on the table after she came in from the street after playing skimstone and dead duster with her friends, all of them stupid kids full of hope that they would be heroes and married to rich nobles.

"Yeah, sure there was. But… The more I am here," and here her voice broke slightly, guilty at her own omission, "the more I don't want to go back. It was always at the back of my mind that I would return to Dust Town, doing what I don't know... But now I don't want to, not anymore."

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up at the contact. "You're tougher then anyone I've ever met," he said quietly.

"Because I've had to be." She fixed him a look, and wondered if she should push him into a lecture of survival. Instead she sighed a little wistfully, rubbing a booted foot on Dog's proffered tummy. "You know, it's funny. As I got older I worked out it wasn't exactly me Mam was angry at, and sometimes I pity her for it. But it's not enough to forgive, not just yet."

Alistair paused at that, then removed his hand. "I understand, I think." Missa thought he didn't, but shrugged anyway.

"Eh, it's done with now." Missa stopped talking looked away from him. He shuffled on his feet, unsure what to do and say. Finally he bundled his wood and gestured back to the camp.

"I'm going to head back. You've… given me a lot to think about. I," he shuffled his feet, uncomfortable, "I have a sister, too, you see. I would like to find her. The next time we're in Denerim. If we have time, that is. It's all right if we're too busy. But, maybe she could tell me what my mother really was like." Dog rose expectantly and stretched out on his front paws in front of her. A nudge to hindquarters gave him the answer needed and he followed the man back to camp, but not before covering her boot in slobber.

It was nice to be alone for awhile; Missa needed some time to put settle some memories back into place and hide them again. She had no idea how long she waited there before she realised she was being watched. A twig snapped and she unsheathed her daggers, eyes darting to the shadows quickly.

"'Tis only I," and Morrigan revealed herself across the stream, appearing from shadows.

"Morrigan," Missa said with nod, flicking her daggers into a less threatening position. "How much of that did you hear?" She asked, not really caring that the witch had or not.

Morrigan appraised her coolly, then looked away. "It was hard not to overhear the fool speak, he is hardly quiet."

Missa laughed freely. "His voice does carry, doesn't it?" She looked at the woman then, so desperate to say something. Morrigan frowned slightly at her, perhaps thinking the same. "Ah, let's go back. Alistair unsupervised is a bad thing. He might set his tent on fire, or need his shoelaces tied or something."

* * *

They continued their journey to Denerim, the sun peeking out of the clouds. The fine weather put most in a good mood, despite the night's heavy discussion. Leliana started to sing again, and Missa rolled her eyes; Morrigan caught the gesture and smirked.

"Must we put up with your constant noise everywhere we go, bard?" Morrigan asked, golden eyes mulish even in the sunlight.

Alistair actually laughed. "We'll dance with all the darkspawn we come across."

The bard ended her song with a _hey nonny no _and took the teasing good naturedly. "A simple reminder that there should be joy and beauty even in darkness is a wonderful thing."

"I already dance good with darkspawn, Leli."

"And a pretty dance it is too," Alistair said smoothly.

Missa aimed a kick at his arse with a grin. "Liar, liar, codpiece on fire."

It was midday when they discovered they weren't alone. A woman saw them on the path, running up to their group. She hysterically told them about an attack, and Missa reacted with a barely suppressed groan.

Missa crossed her arms and looked sideways at the group. Alistair shrugged and pulled out his sword, and they all followed. As they arrived into a clearing, she knew exactly what she walked into and leapt as a trap swung towards her.

She saw archers trailing their movements, and traps littering the path. It was a nice set up, and if she wasn't intent on not getting killed she would be taking a step back to observe it all before things descended into chaos.

Missa looked around her quickly, trying to work things out. "I knew it," she said to no one in particular, and gestured to Morrigan to start taking out those looking down a shaft of an arrow at them.

"The grey wardens die here, now!" She heard, and threw herself into the fight.


	11. Brasca!

Bodies were dragged to the centre of the clearing. They had upturned a cart, intending to use it as a pyre. The slow process off transporting the corpses of their would be assassins to their humble grave was not a pleasant task; Missa was not entirely sure why she was showing them the courtesy, doubting very much they would have shown the same to her.

"I wonder why they wanted to kill us," Alistair asked no one in particular.

"Not us, you," Sten intoned neutrally. "The Grey Wardens have many political enemies in this country. It is to be expected." Missa fixed him a curious look at his grasp of the situation, then shrugged.

"It worries me we were that easy to find."

Leliana looked up from her position at Missa's words. The bard was kneeling over a sitting Morrigan, fixing a bandage to witch's leg. "Do not worry, Missa. These were professionals- they carried good steel and they fought well. They were no ordinary hired swords," she said, finishing off her work with a firm knot.

"Not professional enough to kill us," Alistair said under his breath.

Missa rolled her eyes at his smugness and heaved with effort as she pulled a body up onto the cart. "Well now," she said to him. "Who can afford to send them?" She had a vague idea, and Missa wondered if they would survive the next attack.

Morrigan, who was currently trying to heal herself of an arrow wound on her shoulder, looked up at Missa's words and scowled. Alistair noticed her reaction and looked her way. "You know, you can leave. If all these threats to your life are much too precious for your liking… Nothing's stopping you."

"Alistair, shut up." Missa hit him in the arm in retaliation. The movement made her drop her side of the corpse they were carrying, and he nearly staggered over the slumped body.

Before he could retort, the corpse they were carrying slipped again. It made a noise that sounded a lot like a groan when it hit hard ground, and Alistair removed his hands quickly. Tentatively then he toed the corpse with his armoured boot, looking down at her curiously. "You did hear that, right?"

Missa bent over the body and dipped fingers suddenly onto a too warm throat. "Yeah, I did."

"Corpses make sounds long after they are long dead. It is the sound of it collapsing on itself, mostly," said Sten calmly. The Qunari effortlessly carried two mangled carcasses over his shoulder to the cart; Missa thought he looked for all the world like a grotesque merchant ferrying his stock.

"Uh, thanks for that Sten." Her cold fingers found a pulse point then, and she smirked. "Seems we'll find out which one of our apparently many enemies wanted to kill us today. Get some rope, we have a guest."

Some rather natty rope was thrown her way, scavenged from the crates nearby. Missa had finished tying her captive by the time he woke up, and she had enough time to examine him before he came around.

Their prisoner was a strangely bronzed elf wearing foreign leathers she'd not seen before, all subtle greens and greys designed for stealth. He looked a fighter and had his share of scars and muscles, but for some reason Missa thought he had the air of money. While her experiences of elves have been only been of hired thugs, servants and the Dalish, this one seemed different.

"You sure he's alive?" Alistair asked. He stared at the heavy gash on the elf's side, blood dripping down to his boots.

With a firm hand she pushed his cheek to one side to reveal a tattoo to his face. The elf murmured something in a language she couldn't understand, and Missa started to shake his face. "Wake up now," she said, slowly increasing the strength behind her gestures.

"If that's the way you treat guests I'm loathe to visit your house," Alistair said dryly.

"Who said you'd be a guest?" She replied, not moving her eyes from the elf's face. She heard Morrigan chuckle over her shoulder, and Missa realised then she was surrounded by everyone, as curious as she about what their hostage could reveal.

She stood up when the elf finally woke up and spoke to her. "Hmm? Oh. I thought I would wake up dead, or not at all…" He started to say, and Missa listened. It was a peculiar way to greet captors, so she let him speak. His peculiar eyes watched her constantly, waiting for a sign of something.

Prettily he begged for his life then. She looked sideways at the people she called friends and comrades, watching as they tightened crossed arms and raised eyebrows. Loghain sent him- of course he did, but there was something about the elf that made her guiltily shift on restless feet, some memory of her former life as a Carta thug prodding her into mercy.

So she knelt down and cut the bindings she made, and offered her hand to the wounded assassin. "Are you serious?" She heard Alistair snap. She ignored the protests then and just handed him one of her daggers.

"You do it, Alistair. Kill him if it displeases you, I'm not fussed," she bluffed. When the dagger in her palm was not taken, Missa sheathed it back quietly. A steely gaze at the others put to mind their grumbles, and she set to stacking fuel over the corpses. Leliana patched their newest travel companion up expertly, even when Morrigan flicking her glowing hands impatiently over open wounds.

Sten had done much of the work while she deliberated the Antivan's freedom and she was glad she didn't have to pick up any more bodies. "Morrigan?" She asked the witch, gesturing to the makeshift pyre. Irritably the witch looked at her, and with a bored gesture the cart exploded into fire so fiercely the backs of Missa's eyes burnt white from the flare.

"Want to say a few words about your former colleagues, _assassin_?" Alistair asked, the tone of his voice hard.

"How generous of you, Warden." Zevran replied, head bowed slightly. Missa didn't believe for one second the face of contrition he currently wore. "Would you mind if I say this in Antivan? I do not know the Feraldian words for such an occasion."

"I don't care," Missa said. She pointedly ignored the look Leliana fixed her and went to stand by Morrigan and Sten who were keeping their distance from the pyre. She barely gave a second glance to the Stone when she was in Orzammar, and currently her patience was pushed too far to show even the starkest of respect to religious surfacer droning at the moment.

"Very well. _Anche i morti putrefatti, i ubriacatura come matti, daghela ben biondina daghela ben biondà. Chi non beve in compagnia? Sinceramente, ladro o l'è spia. daghela ben biondina daghela ben biondà," _he said, the foreign, exotic words sombre_._

Leliana looked sideways at him and frowned. "I have never heard of such thing. _Spia_, that means spy, no? Is it like a prayer for the wicked?"

Zevran laughed at that, then winced as his wounds opened up slightly at the movements. "Yes, of sorts. The Crows take prayer seriously."

"I'm sure," the Bard replied, voice in disbelief. "I will say a Chant of Light, if no one minds? For it is for our atonement also." At Zevran's nod, Leliana continued. "_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade; for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost." _

Alistair removed his helm and bowed his head respectably, and she heard Leliana sigh. The three of them stared into the fire then, building steadily thanks to Morrigan's magic.

Missa ruined the contemplation after a too short while by putting her fingers to her mouth and whistling loudly. A minute or so later, Dog came bounding out from his position of sentry, all happy stumpy tail wagging and barks. "This is Dog," she said to the assassin.

Dog barked his greeting, and Zevran bowed mockingly as the mabari slobbered on her boot. "It would not be Ferelden without a dog," he said to no one in particular.

"I'm sure," Missa said through her teeth. "And Dog is now your bestest friend out of us all, because he'll be watching your back." She clicked her fingers to get Dog's attention, and then pointed at Zevran. "Guard." As soon as she said that word, Dog's demeanour changed. Where a lumbering, lolling pet once stood a stocky, muscled wardog appeared, ears down and teeth bared.

A low growl filled the silence, and Zevran looked at her with a polite smile. "Of course," he said with another bow. "Well, lead on, my beautiful captor."

"I'm sure Dog appreciates it that you call him pretty," Missa turned on her heel and walked ahead of him, without so much of a backwards glance. She knew that her mabari would stick close to very biteable Antivan ankles for the rest of the journey.

Besides, Missa already decided she'd kill the assassin before they reached the city. If he placed one foot out of place, that is.

* * *

According to Alistair they could force themselves to be in Denerim by midnight, but Missa was in no mood to march. After they sat around the fading dusk of their campfire sharing a meal of spitted rabbit and rations, she rose and stretched with a yawn. Out of the corner of her eye she knew her gestures were being watched by their newest member, and she ignored it.

"Alistair…?" She enquired casually, thinking of their previous night by the stream. She kicked him against an armoured shin casually and he put his bowl down.

"Yes, miss?"

Missa scowled down at him and he offered her a wry grin. "What have I told you about the _miss_ nonsense?"

"You've told me a lot of things. Sometimes I occasionally listen in to them." Missa was fed up of punching his arm; plate metal hurt after awhile.

"Yeah, well." She stretched again and yawned. "Look, I haven't forgotten, all right? About the thing. In Denerim. That you wanted to do," she said quietly, bending over to whisper into his ear discreetly. Quickly she straightened so no one would think anything of her gesture, and caught Zevran's eye again.

Alistair frowned and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh. Well, you know, only if there's time, I mean, uh…"

Missa sighed and just looked at him, hands on her hips. "Do you want to or not?" He rose too quickly, face suddenly red, and her gaze trailed up. "Eh, no worries salroka. I'll see you in the morning. Get to patrol with Sten before he comes over and drags you there himself."

She watched him go, tiredly trying to think of things to say to him, of the words she could say that would help pick up the pieces when it inevitably went wrong with sister.

She sat next to Zevran then suddenly, and pushed Alistair from her mind. "Warden," he said to her quietly, moving back slightly so he could see all of her. Dog led by his feet still and wagged his tail at her approach.

"Food okay? We like to feed our would be murderers around here," she tried to joke, and the assassin looked back to the fire with a smile.

"It was nourishing, yes."

Missa removed her cap and ran a slow hand through her hair, itching it briefly. "Yeah, well. You're lucky you just didn't get served Redcliffe's famous salted herring. Not even Dog will touch it, but it can apparently survive a Blight."

"I am honoured, then." The were appraising each other on the sly, and Missa was trying to place him. No way did she trust the elf or take his oath of loyalty seriously, but she did trust that he wanted his own survival, and staying with them would give it to him… For now.

"I don't know what a Crow is," she said suddenly, wondering where this assassin came from.

"Oh? We are quite famous."

Missa shrugged with a smile. "Ever heard of the Carta? No? Thought not. Different circles, I suppose."

Zevran looked back at her with a quick grin. "My dear, I think you and I work in similar areas, shall we say?"

She snorted at that. "Spotted my dirty little fighting, did you? I'm no assassin, but…"

The Antivan grinned at the opportunity she gave him. "I spotted many things."

She rubbed at her eyes tiredly and resisted another yawn. "I'm sure you did, you seem the type." She ruffled Dog's ears briefly and he licked her hand. "Guard," she said finally. The mabari sat on his haunches and fixed Zevran with steely glare. "You two behave yourself now."

"_Brasca_," he said quietly under his breath. It was soft enough for her not to be able to hear it. She only did as it sounded so achingly familiar.

"No, Brosca," she said then, turning on her heel slightly. Her heart jumped briefly in her chest at the mention of her mispronounced name, and she frowned at her reaction.

Zevran appraised her slightly, golden eyes glinting by the firelight. "I… That is what I said? _Brrrasca_," and he rolled the word out on his tongue so it lingered.

Missa laughed. "Close, but no. Broh-sca."

The elf frowned and gestured in confusion. "I… Warden, is this some joke I am not getting? Because I must confess I find this particular Fereldian sense of humour confusing."

Missa frowned then, tiredly rubbing a hand over her face. "You said my name," she explained. "I'm not sure how you know it, but…" She thought it through, then realised something; how would he know it in the first place? No one outside of Dust Town would. "Wait a minute, I think we're dancing to different beats here."

"And yet we still have impeccable rhythm," he added smoothly. "I think we are understanding each other now, yes?" He offered her a raised eyebrow and she snorted inelegantly. She knew his type well, and his flirting would earn him an arm punch or two if he continued.

"Brosca. It's my family name. I was… wondering whatever you said was that. And obviously not."

Zevran tossed his head back and laughed. Dog raised his head briefly and whuffed in annoyance at the noise, then settled back with a doggish sigh. "Oh this is priceless. Do you know what it means in Antivan? _Brasca_, I mean?"

Missa could guess where this was going and started to smile. "Enlighten me."

"It is a word that means, literally, 'bad word.' Like damnation."

Missa half collapsed on the floor and started to laugh. "That's… Oh Stone, are you serious?" Leliana looked up from her position of packing up the rations, half following the conversation.

"Miss Damnation?" She said impishly, a smile on her lips.

"So it would seem." She blinked back the tears she had from laughing and yawning and shook her head. "Fuckin' typical. And yet, I don't care."

"It suits you, in some ways," Leliana said quietly.

Missa smiled sadly. "I suppose." She stood up and stretched one last time, moaning as her back clicked into place. "On that enlightening and soul searching discovery, I am going to bed."

She fell into her bed roll in her armour and weapons strapped to her still, not worrying that an assassin who was paid to kill her was only yards from her prone form.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Zevran's "prayer" is a genuine Venice folk song I've butchered for the use of this chapter. The song is in a round form and gets worse and worse with more references of drinking and whores added on, as it's meant to be sung while completely wasted. Kind of fitting for Zevran to sing instead of a Chant of Light, frankly.

Translated, it is: _Even the dead rotting/ Get drunk by the morning/ Move then blondie move then blonde/ Who does not drink in company/ Honestly?/ with thieves or spies._


	12. Surviving Hope

The stench of the city greeted them before she could see the main gates of Denerim. A haze of smog hung over the spires and roofs, and the road they walked on was well trod and muddy, footprints and cart wheels turning the soil into peaks and valleys too precarious to walk on.

The bridge that led them to the market district was busy, traders and merchants too poor to afford a stand in the main drag hawking their goods enthusiastically as they passed. The reek of the dirty river and the sprawling urban mass in front of them made her breathe through her mouth, and she wondered if Dust Town was just as bad to foreign senses. "Denerim stinks," she said then, not looking forward to their time here.

"You'll get used to it," Alistair said after yanking his gaze from a trader trying to sell some 'genuine' Andrastian artefacts his way.

Missa scanned the crowds quickly and tightened the grip on backpack. She looked back and saw Morrigan wide eyed with amazement at the stalls, lingering at a jewellery stand. "Yeah, well. Let's get what we came for and leave, shall we?"

Sten raised one eyebrow, towering disapproval at being here obvious. She knew she was being watched by someone, and not entirely sure who. As the crowds thinned, she saw a girl begging ahead, huddled against a stone wall.

"Please, spare some copper for my sister, Ser. She's sick." Missa looked to her left and saw a rosy cheeked boy greet her. Up ahead the pretty blonde girl by the wall coughed pathetically into her dirty hands, looking miserable. A delicate, filthy hand was placed on her boot as she walked up to her, and the girl flinched, almost expecting a kick.

Instantly Leliana put her hands in her pocket and withdrew some silvers. "Go to the Chantry," she said firmly. "They will help."

It was then Missa found a hand graze her hip. Quickly she grabbed a skinny arm and pulled it back. "I suggest you return that," she said calmly. "Or I break your wrist." The boy turned round and kicked her in the shin, but Missa moved out the way in time and twisted his arm around his back, shaking her stolen purse from his hands. Coin, wallets and trinkets fell from his too loose clothing like an upturned bag.

Sharp nails gripped her other hand and his accomplice started to fight her. "Let my brother go, you fat hag!"

"Warden!" Leliana said then, scandalised as Missa pushed the girl back down.

The irony of being greeted by a pair of thieves as she entered Denerim was not lost on Missa. The pair of children re-enacted a scene she did many a time as a child with either Rica or whatever duster was brave enough to act as the bait in the Commons, usually while she got to work on the actual thieving… All before the guards rounded them up and shoved them back to Dust Town, of course. _Rica used to sing_, Missa thought, and tightened her jaw. _At least they got a show_.

"I think Chantry life has made you forget what cities are like, Leli," she said, hand still gripped in the wriggling boy's too thin arms. "I know a hustle when I see one." Dog growled a warning and placed his muzzle into the girl's chest and pushed her down further, and she stopped raining blows on Missa.

"We need it for food, please let me go… I'll give you your things back," he mumbled. Missa found herself gritting her teeth again and she growled in frustration.

"Ah, petty crime," Zevran murmured to her right. She watched the others check pockets and bags for anything missing. "A true welcome to any city, no?"

"Welcome to Denerim, get things stolen? Sounds about right," Alistair said. "Not that I speak from experience, or anything. Uh." Missa smirked at that, imagining a clueless Alistair wandering around wide eyed in the city, the perfect mark for pickpockets.

"While she's there doing the sob story routine, the boy here works the crowd." The girl coughed delicately into a dirty handkerchief, nose and cheeks red. "Sloppy work, by the way," Missa said, shaking the thief slightly in her grip. "If a purse is too well tied always walk into them first to make it look like an accident, gives you more time to work at it."

"Warden," Leliana said again sternly. "They are still children, and look half starved." A lone guard frowned their way, and the bard darted her gaze nervously.

Missa had no doubt the pair of them were hungry. "Oh, fine." She let go of the boy and they ran off, but not before gathering all the things they'd stolen from the muddy ground. She bent down to retrieve her purse before nimble hands could swipe it again and glared at the former Sister, this time tucking her belongings safely in her jerkin.

"You knew as well as I did we were being targeted. And yet you gave them money, and probably would've let them steal from me if I hadn't had noticed," she said to Leliana, pulling up the leathers around her cleavage to secure her purse. Her movements were being watched carefully by Zevran and she ignored him.

"Of course I would not have," she insisted. "But you cannot deny they were in need of it."

Missa rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm sure that money will go directly into buying food and medicine. And not at all to their pimp."

"_Pimp_?" Exclaimed Alistair. "But… Maker, they were children." Missa raised her eyebrows at him, remembering how sheltered he was before she met him.

"You are much too cynical, Missa. They could indeed be brother and sister, begging for their family," Leliana said quietly.

She sighed and itched the hair under her cap. "Perhaps," she relented to Leliana. "But a few more years, perhaps not."

"If we are all done deliberating the fate of guttersnipes," Morrigan's voice rang out behind them. "Shall we move on?"

Missa found herself suddenly tired, and agreed.

* * *

She already insisted on a low profile, and dismissed Leliana, Sten and Morrigan to find somewhere discreet to hide in the market, hoping the bard's charm could explain away anything if they were questioned. Missa knew that this was a mission of stealth over strength, and their small group needed only a little reconnaissance work in the city; especially since Loghain was only a spit away.

Brother Gentivi's house was easy enough to find, and it stunk of death. Missa knew what the smell of a rotting corpse smelt like, and the place reeked of it. When she saw the nervous gaze of the "assistant" who played dumb and the black flies that climbed the walls, she knew something was amiss.

She rifled through the Brother's study while the corpse of the fanatic cooled on the floor. Missa looked up at as Zevran approached her, wiping his blades nonchalantly clean of blood. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he appraised her calmly. "Yes?" She said shortly.

"We have to find this Brother?" He asked. She nearly smirked at the '_we_.'

Missa went back to flicking through the bookcase, trying to ignore the smell of the decomposing body in a too warm room, a hand clamped over her mouth; Alistair had stepped outside to breath in fresh air instead with a concerned Dog, apparently insisting on guarding the entrance. "He was the main researcher for the Ashes," she said quickly. "Logically his would be the strongest trail to follow."

He leant on the doorframe, unbothered by the mess and the stench. "Do you believe it would work? Will it save this Arl?" She looked around and frowned and him.

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, and ran a finger over a dusty shelf distantly. "It seems… Like something out of a fairytale. The big brave Grey Wardens riding off into the sunset like chevaliers on a quest."

"I'm doing no riding," Missa shot back, thinking of the walking they did everywhere. She lifted up the desk and saw a plain leather journal hiding there, and cracked it open to read. "But I see your point," hoping there was enough finality in her voice for him to drop it. Sten had already brought the issue up, and she smacked it down hard, knowing the Qunari was pushing for something.

"Do you believe in Andraste? Or The Maker, for that matter?" He asked, dusting his fingers off of grime lightly.

"No," she replied shortly. "I'm a dwarf, and a particularly bad one at that. When it comes to religion, anyway."

"Oh?" He asked, picking up a gold plated book with interest. She looked into his cat-curious amber eyes and swallowed the sudden awkward attraction she felt, remembering where she was and, more importantly, _what he was_. There were other tumbles she could find that were less dangerous, frankly.

She exhaled slowly, scanning the spidery scrawl of the scholar leisurely. While she was no illiterate duster, reading was still arduous, especially if it was handwritten. "The Stone does not take too kindly to my type," Missa said shortly, finally giving him an answer.

"The Stone?" With a snap she closed the journal, and pursed her lips irritably.

"Yes. What my people are."

Zevran looked at that curiously, then let his gaze drift back to his book. "And you are not Stone? You're certainly hard enough."

She snorted at the analogy and pinched her nose, gesturing for them to leave the room. "I'm nothing but dust to them, Zevran. And the Stone, along with the Paragons, Andraste, the Maker and the millions of Gods the Dalish seem to worship, well… They can go fuck themselves. Because they don't seem to listen to us peons, do they? No matter how loudly anyone prays." Missa walked past him to get to Alistair, fixing the elf a look of _please shut up now_ as she did.

"Not that I do not entirely disagree with you, I must confess I am confused as to why you insist on finding these Ashes," Zevran provoked further, throwing the book on the table as he followed her out.

Missa thought of the guilt she had over the Arlessa's death still and the certainty she saw in all the knights -even Ser Perth- that the belief they felt about the Ashes was pure faith, and the cure it apparently gave true. "I have to try," she said quietly. "Politically the Arl is good for us, and would be a strong support for the humans to believe the Wardens aren't psycho killers intend on corrupting Ferelden. It's not enough just to have the treaties."

Zevran shut the front door subtly. She waved the journal at Alistair, who leant against the wall of the house, standing out on the street like a sore thumb. She rolled her eyes at his attempts at covertly trying to 'guard' the house, and they all headed out into the crowds in step.

"Forgive me, Wardens. But these treaties…" Zevran asked them. Missa flicked a gaze over to him and carried on walking through the market, gaze curious.

"What have you been telling him?" Alistair said in an undertone. She looked up and shrugged, annoyed that everyone seemed to be picking at her decisions today.

"Yes, Zevran?" She asked, ignoring Alistair.

"How many have said they will support you?" Missa stopped and faced him then, forcing the flow of the market to go around them.

"Just the Dalish so far. There's… There's my people to get, and the mages too." Zevran frowned, then waved his hands.

"It is not my place to say anything, forgive my intrusion. But…" the elf started to say, tapping a finger to his chin.

Alistair weaved out of the way of a rather annoyed merchant trying to carry a rolled up rug on the street they stood on. "You're going to say it anyway," he replied, and glared at him.

"Perhaps it would be more fortuitous to complete the treaties? Rather then… Chase a legend," Zevran suggested.

Alistair raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Yesssss. Thank you, _Mr. Assassin_. Duly noted."

Missa ran her hand through her hair and tried to keep the doubt out of her entire demeanour. "That's enough," she said loudly. "We've got what we've came for, so we can leave as soon as we find the others. We can decide tomorrow where to go."

They reached the Chantry in silence, and Missa examined the board with interest. Dog nosed her leg and she leant on him, scratching his forehead faintly.

"Missa," Alistair asked quietly. "About my, um, sister…" He looked around, and Zevran waited in the shadows, eyes darting across the market.

She looked up at him sadly. "Of course, I haven't forgotten. You can go if you like, I'll meet you here when you're done." Missa went back to reading the board, but he still stood there. "Do you want me to go with you?" She asked, placing a hand on his arm. Suddenly everything was awkward.

"Yes! Yes- I mean, if you're not doing anything else. Obviously," the relief in his voice palpable.

"Then lead on," she replied. Zevran made to follow and she stopped. "Zevran, would you… Would you mind waiting for a bit?"

"Giving me my freedom already?" He said in a grin. Missa rolled her eyes and toed Dog. "No, just… We have to do something. I'd appreciate it," she said through her teeth, "if you waited." Dog looked between them and cocked his head.

The elf looked at the nervously striding Alistair heading along the street and back at her. Missa wondered what he was thinking, but squashed it down. "I will wait," he said fixing her an amused expression.

She looked at Dog and leant down. "Stay with Zevran," she said. He cocked his head again, and whined. "Oh, fine. Guard," and the mabari sat in front the elf with an almost smug grin.

"Delightful. Your company again, my canine friend?"

Missa shrugged at them both. "Stay out of trouble now," and she ran to meet up with Alistair.

* * *

Of course it didn't go well, and Missa hated that there was a part of her that wanted to slap him on the back as they left Goldanna's with an "I told you so."

He stood outside, stunned, a hand held against his mouth. She saw a flash of blonde out of the corner of her eye and Zevran emerged from the shadow of the house, looking away from them both politely. Dog went up to her and sniffed her boots, sneezing suddenly.

"Was that it?" Alistair asked. "That… Shrew was my sister?"

Missa put her hands on her hips, watching as the mabari stretched out in front of her in a yawn. "Sorry salroka," she said roughly. "_'Can't chose your blood, can't chose your caste_,' as the saying goes. Well, for my folk anyway."

He looked at her with red eyes, confused slightly. "But… Isn't that what family should do?"

She laughed at that, and Alistair looked at her sharply. "You say this to me _now_? After you heard me tell you about my Mother? And you expect me to answer that? Just because she's blood, it does not mean she should be your family, no. Not at all."

Alistair flashed her an angry look. "Don't rub it in, alright? Just… Drop it." He turned on his heel and walked away then, and with an annoyed sigh she followed him.

"Alistair, wait."

"Leave it," and he carried on walking.

Missa ran ahead of him and pushed him back. "No, you'll listen. You need to start standing up for yourself, toughen up and realise that there's not many people on this earth that give a shit about you. You have to start surviving."

"That's an awful thing to say," he said, looking down at her.

"I know it is," she said reasonably. "You have to start looking out for _you_. Because I can't be everywhere, even if you are my salroka."

Missa thought arrogantly her words would be a comfort. Instead he reacted in an entirely different way. "Are you happy now?" He shouted back, face red.

"I… Alistair, I'm not, no. I'm sorry that-"

"You're sorry? I doubt it. It makes it easier for you if the world is at your level, right? That way you don't have to think too hard and hope. And Maker forbid if anyone shows anyone some kindness or charity, because that doesn't exist to you, does it?"

She stopped then trying to reason, as angry as him. "You go very carefully now," she said, every word precise. "As you may end up saying something you regret, and I'll have to respond. And you won't like that."

"Fine," he said shortly. He left her then in the centre of the market, the people walking in the space he left.

"Damn it," she said to no one in particular. Dog padded up to her and butted her leg with a whine, and she pushed him away. "Damn it, damn it."

"Warden," Zevran said quietly to her then, appearing by her side.

"Still here?" She said shortly, hands on hips.

"Of course. I am a man of my word."

"Careful now. I can take that in many, many different ways."

Zevran chuckled and looked at her, eyes sweeping her face briefly. "Ah, the possibilities."

Missa looked up at him as appraisingly as he had done earlier, gaze lingering over tanned, lithe flesh before staring briefly into his peculiar eyes. She then did something she had no idea how she started, and grabbed his shoulders and kissed him roughly.

It wasn't an elegant kiss; it was teeth bumping and dry lips, and as soon as it melted into something more serious she pushed him away. "Don't know why I did that," she said, a hand to her mouth.

Zevran rubbed a thumb over his lower lip and raised an eyebrow. "Impulsiveness is the very blood of living; it does not need explaining. I do not mind, however. You can be _impulsive _around me as often as you like."

Missa fixed him a look and pursed her lips. "I was… Angry. And took it out on you. So, uh, sorry." Zevran gave her look that said he wasn't fooled about something, but remained silent, a sardonic smile playing his lips.

"Of course."

"Let's go find the others," she said roughly. Missa shook herself before she move, and refused to look at him for the rest of the day.

* * *

She almost felt sorry that he only had to Dog to talk to, so she dismissed the mabari to walk with Alistair from Denerim, sun setting over the jagged lines of the cityscape as they left the stench and bustle of the place.

Zevran smiled at her arrival, and they walked in a comfortable silence for awhile. It gave her a chance to sneak glances and eavesdrop on her companions: Leliana was singing to an unusually stoic Alistair; Morrigan was teasing Sten about Qunari stamina, gifted jewellery Missa brought her from the market flashing in the light as she gestured… All in all, it was normal. By their standards, at least.

"Tell me about Antiva," Missa said then, finally relaxed enough to talk, hoping he would not bring up her earlier _impulsiveness_. " I know about the stuff they import, like saffron and furniture- and some dyes, too. Oh, and of course wine." She recalled the trade goods with ease, remembering her work with Beraht. Missa learnt quickly what was quality in all sorts of surfacer cargo; it made it easier to see when merchants she was paid to lean on were lying or not.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "I see you know most of our most famous exports. But yet you have not heard of the Crows… A pity."

She shook her head at that. "Like I said, we move in different circles." If Missa was honest, the notion of the Crows was sparking some vague memory of goods passed through the Commons and the black market. Mainly weapons, but she was dwarva; there was an inbuilt belief in her that dwarf metal work was vastly superior to anything else, even if she was born a duster.

"Hmm. What rock have you been hiding under my dear, for the world to pass you by so?"

Missa laughed and punched his arm. "I'm a dwarf, in case it escaped your attention. I used to live in a mountain- which is a very large rock, incidentally."

"You have my attention, I assure you. _Botte piccola fa vino buono_, as we Antivans say," he said, casually rubbing his arm where she hit him.

"Which means?" She looked up suspiciously, waiting for the punch line. It was going to be something dirty, Missa could tell.

"A small cask makes good wine," and Zevran raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

She groaned at his comment and flashed him a wry smile. "Ha. For all I know you've just made a crack about my arse, or perhaps something else horrifically racist dressed up as fancy. Since you're the only one here that can speak Antivan, I'll just have to take your word on it."

"I can make comments about your… behind instead, if you prefer," he replied slyly. He was testing the waters again, Missa knew. She didn't quite believe the intent yet, despite the lingering gazes, and the memories of her rather sloppy attempted kiss was still embarrassing enough for her not to pry.

"Oh I know you could," Missa fired back. "Not sure how we got from Antiva to my arse, but such is life."

Zevran chuckled. "There is a moral there somewhere, I'm sure."

"My arse is hardly a subject to be brought up around morals, but whatever warms your lavastones."

He very deliberately swept his gaze over her body. Missa raised an eyebrow and glared at him when his eyes finally met hers. " That sounds like a fine tale to tell, _Signorina Brasca_. You must enlighten me some time so I can learn from it," he said shamelessly, not at all bothered by the fierce look she was currently giving him.

"Hey now, I was the one asking about stories. I'm not telling you anything about my morals just yet, especially after that crack," Missa said, ignoring the seemingly new _brasca_ nickname.

"Very well… I can tell you of some of my Antivan Crow missions. Even though it would make me feel like I am some old man in a tavern, recalling his glory days long since passed… But it is your desire, I assume? Nothing says Antiva to me then the Crows."

She smirked up at him ruthlessly and ignored his question. "Oh, so you're not old? I can never tell with you elves. But what would I know, I'm only a _small cask_."

The Antivan laughed much more freely then. "Ah, I deserved that I think."

Missa nudged him with her elbow slightly. "Perhaps. But tell me about the Crows anyway."

He looked up to the sky then, deliberating. With a final little shrug, he started to speak. "Let me tell you about my first mission…"

* * *

The camped as far away from the city as they could, setting up their camp in darkness. Food was cold rations, but Denerim market was scoured by Leliana and Morrigan both for decent, hardy food for them to eat, and even cold cuts of slightly stale bread and meat were delicious compared to their usual fair.

Zevran's words still lingered with her. Despite the elf being from a different country and culture, her previously thought notion that they kept to different circles was diminishing. While her Carta life wasn't the silk-lined bedrooms and intrigue of Crow business, the overlap of killing people for money and back biting politics was something she was used to, and Zevran's rather pragmatic outlook on life mirrored hers.

He brushed off his childhood in jovial charm when he mentioned it briefly, and Missa knew enough from her own miserable youth to see how he hid it. She wondered how much Zevran would appreciate her own embittered tales of endurance and living Dust Town left her, but for now they were content with sharing stories of their old jobs like leftovers of a war, recalling battles and scrapes with the knowing warmth of their similarities, dog soldiers glad to be alive.

The day also brought more food for thought in the shape of Alistair. He kept on looking at her thoughtfully whenever she swept her gaze his way; she was relieved to see there was no anger there anymore, and hoped her friend would be talking to her tomorrow. Missa would not approach him until then, however.

Without realising it, Alistair had started a chain reaction in her in thinking about something she ignored in others. Faith and religion was an alien concept to her, but the gist Missa caught was that it was something rooted in hope, something Alistair had accused her of lacking earlier on in the day.

She rose after they finished eating and gestured to Leliana to follow her, both of them on the first patrol of the evening. As Leliana hugged on the shoulders briefly and moved as silently as she, Missa touched her elbow before speaking. "Can I ask you something, Leli?" She whispered then, mindful of the camp.

"Of course my friend," the bard said. Missa could just see the white of a smile by the light of the moon.

A fox screamed briefly before she spoke. "You don't have to answer me, but your faith... I know it's important to you, and you take comfort from it. Could- could you explain it to me, a little? What it means to you?"

"Ah, Missa," the bard said in a sigh. "How can I explain that in a sentence, in a night even! I am blessed for I know the Maker's love, and I take hope and comfort from that. I know I am lucky in this, because I know I am always loved and cherished, and I can take guidance in that. It is hope in its purest form, and helps me get through my darkest of hours. "

Missa thought for awhile before she replied. "So hope is important," she said, thinking of the Ashes again, and the supposed miracle cure they had.

"Of course. It is… The reason to simply be. It is the reason we all live. Without hope, there is nothing."

She frowned at that, trying to make the words fit in situations she understood. "So hope is survival," Missa replied quietly. "It drives you to put one foot in front of the other, to not give in."

Leliana was quiet then, and Missa felt a hand on her shoulder. "Hope is not just survival. It is the _reason_ for survival, and to remind us not all is lost." She put her hand briefly over Leliana's and squeezed.

"Thank you," she told the bard. "You've helped, I think."

Leliana laughed musically, and Missa knew she was smiling. "I do not know what I did, but I am glad."

As Missa walked away, the bard called out to her before she was out of range. "Warden, wait…. What is your faith? If you do not mind me asking."

Missa looked up at the stars and grinned. "Survival," was all she said, and walked away, the rest of the night waiting for them.


	13. Stories

They'd stopped outside a village. Leliana and Morrigan were sent into the depths of the huts and houses on the hunt for first aid supplies, while the rest lingered outside the outskirts. The four of them enjoyed the midday sun from their position of a wooden bench outside an inn, Dog lounging in the heat happily.

Every time Missa had tried to talk to Alistair, he shut down on her. While he did what she said without question, there was a guard up. Words were short and she stubbornly refused to talk back, waited for him to thaw first; she still thought her reaction after meeting his sister was right, and hoped he would see sense eventually and forgive her.

Missa watched in amusement as Zevran and Sten tried to politely avoid drinking the watered ale brought for them by the ex-templar; Alistair was the only one out of the four who was actually drinking the slop from the inn, and she ended up sipping from her water bottle on the sly, trying not to insult her friend by refusing his gift of a drink.

"Where are we headed?" Sten asked her shortly, bulky arms crossed against his chest. Missa has still not decided where to go, but knew they were on a crossroads between heading further west to the village that led them to the mage's tower, or continue their journey south to chase a legend in Haven. The year was slowly creeping towards summer, and the days were longer and warmer; she was not looking forward to heading up a snowy mountain pass, regardless.

Missa had stalled enough, and glared up at the Qunari. "I'll say when everyone gets back, Sten."

"How mysterious," Zevran said oddly. She raised an eyebrow at him and he returned her look with a mild smile, stretching his arms slightly. Missa rose suddenly, walking away under the pretence of heading to the outhouse. She was aware that she had to make a decision, and quickly.

She stopped, however, when she heard talk from the men of the village. Lazily sitting by the shade of the building, they said few words that caught her attention. "…I hear Arl Eamon is sick," said the younger of the two.

"A shame. He's a good man," said the other.

"Yeah. His family have done a lot for Ferelden. Pushed back the Orlesian dogs along with Teryn Loghain."

His friend burped a reply. "Here, did you see that piece of arse by the inn?"

"The_ dwarf?_"

"Oh Maker no," and at that Missa bit back a snort. "No, no. The woman," said the other one. Missa peered up and saw that he was fat, balding and had half his teeth missing, and shook her head in disgust. He thought she wasn't female? Oh, how her heart bled…

"The red head?"

"Well, I would do her too. No, no. I meant the black haired one with the tits out for all to see…" After hearing enough, Missa turned on her heel and headed back. She needed to talk to Alistair, despite his mood, and she would force his opinion out even if it was like bleeding a stone dry.

"Alistair," she said quietly, hands on hips. The man looked up at his name and fixed her a look. "Do me a favour? I need to speak to you about something." She pointedly ignored the others: Sten was too busy glaring his disapproval and Zevran feigned an interest in cleaning his nails.

He put down his ale mug a little too loudly and cleared his throat. "Right."

"Why am I doing this?" She said as soon as they were out of range of the others, in the shade of the inn. The stench of the kitchen and the privy wafted over to them, and Alistair winced at that smell.

"Doing what, exactly?" He asked shortly.

She started to pace, and looked at him. "If the Ashes somehow miraculously worked, what gain would it give us, Alistair? I understand that this country views Arl Eamon as a trusting voice, but will he support us? Offer us some half-arsed troops? Rally the rest of the nobility into seeing that Loghain's a monumental cock and the Blight is real? Because I don't know about you, but I get the overwhelming sense the Archdemon isn't going to let us frolic on the mountaintop while it meekly rests. Just so we can find the time to get some dead woman's corpse for Eamon to snort, obviously. We've not finished the treaties. _This makes no fucking sense_."

He started to pace at her words and turned on her. "I don't know what we should do!" He shouted back when Missa had breathed out the last of her speech. Whatever hope of discretion she had now failed; she knew the others were listening in now.

"Well that's brilliant, Alistair. Good to know!" She put her hands on her hips again and looked at the floor. Eventually he stopped pacing and faced her.

"I know Eamon and I haven't seen eye to eye… I know you think I'm crazy for asking his support, but he's a good man. And… I don't think it's going to be enough. The treaties, I mean. This is a Blight. We need all of Ferelden for this, or we fall."

Missa rubbed her eyes, last night's particular nightmare vivid and stark in her mind. She saw a band of darkspawn rip apart a village, bodies broken and torn like they were nothing. All the while a voice raged in her head like a macabre song, and she woke up and could not sleep the rest of the night. "I know that," she said softly. "But time is running out. What else do we have?" She asked, eyes flicking up at him then.

"Hope," he replied quietly.

She laughed hollowly. The second person to preach her that word in a space of a day. "What a crock of bronto shit," she said in a wry smile, despite her words.

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Then why are you here? Why haven't you cut your losses and run?"

_Because of you. Because of the thought of protecting people like my sister, as well as for every spiteful, needy bastard I come across who doesn't give two shits about me, but I will help regardless. As somehow it's what I do now,_ she thought. "Desperation," was all she managed, despite her raging monologue currently battering away at her self doubt in waves.

He actually laughed and crossed his arms at her. "Same thing, perhaps."

"You realise if this goes to shit I am blaming you," she said. Alistair rubbed a hand at the back of his neck and smiled down at her.

"I'm sure." He appraised her then. Missa found herself frowning, wondering what he was thinking. Suddenly she was pulled into a bear hug and squeezed briefly, a hand roughing her hair into scruffy peaks. "Ah, Missa. Tell you what," he said, letting her go. "I'll teach you how to hope and you can teach me how to be a cynical bastard. Somewhere in the middle things will even out and we'll be two normal people."

Missa straightened her mussed hair and took the peace offering he gave. "You sure about that, salroka? Because, _damn_… The things I could teach you. I'd make you hate the world regardless. I'll corrupt that pure mind of yours. "

He snorted in reply. "Yeah, well. I'll take my chances… If that's alright with you."

"Done. Does this mean I have to rescue small animals from traps and hug every beggar I come across now?"

"Only on a Friday," he said quickly. Alistair fixed her one of his huge, warming grins, and she couldn't help but chuckle despite herself.

* * *

The decision of going to Haven offered up little resistance, and it surprised her that the group accepted their new mission with little grumbling. As they went past the road that led to Redcliffe, the mood lightened, something Missa was putting to the good fortune of the sunny weather.

Zevran walked with her one evening during their patrol after a decent day's march. They were making good time, and Alistair predicted they'd be at the foot of the mountains over the next two days. "You owe me a story about your morals, I do believe," he said into her ear, breath hot against her neck. They watched the camp from the shadows of the canopy, and Missa took his sudden closeness in with barely a flinch.

"I do?" She said then. "All right," she murmured. "But first you have to answer me a question."

"Tsk, all taking and no giving. It is a good thing I am a generous man," Zevran replied. She could see his smile glint in the shadows, and turning too quickly she almost grazed her mouth against his jaw.

"Tell me about hope," she said then. "Everyone seems to have a damn opinion on it, it seems."

She heard him clear his throat and there was a long silence before he spoke again. She knew he heard every word Alistair spoke to her outside that inn, and did not care. Maybe he overheard Leliana's previous Maker-tinged words too, and she would not put it past the Antivan to have eavesdropped without their realisation.

"Hope can make or break you," he said softly, moments before Missa was about to prompt him to answer.

"How so?" She asked, thinking of the stupid things she wished for in the shadows of Dust Town as a kid.

"It is a double edged sword, so to speak, and a dangerous thing to depend on. Hope can encourage a certain breed of survival, but the two are not mutually exclusive."

Missa looked up at the stars, thinking over his words. "Leliana and Alistair would disagree with you," she offered.

Zevran laughed slightly at that. "No doubt. You can cross you heart and wish upon a star all you like, my Warden, but it will not fill starving bellies and end suffering. Action counts. And sometimes, you are not in control of the action. It is …saner to depend on the singularity of your survival instead. And if your particular brand of survival overlaps with that of another, well… That is indeed fortuitous."

"Branded survival. Huh. That's something I understand," she replied, licking her lips slightly.

"I know," he said enigmatically. "You are a fighter, Warden. Hold onto that, it will serve you well."

Missa chuckled and looked up at him. "I fight dirty," she whispered. She leant in further, and felt her lips tentatively touch his.

He trailed a hand along her shoulder before kissing her back gently. This was not the jolted, grazing clumsiness of her angry impulsiveness in Denerim, and for that she was glad. Missa oddly wanted to prove this was something she was good at and that she wasn't a inept duster fumbling in the slums of a bar for a cheap release.

She felt his hands graze her back, pulling her in closer. The kiss deepened and she felt his tongue explore her, softly teasing hers. Here was a dance she knew well, and knew where it would lead. Deliberately she slowed the pace, then. His hands trail along under clothes, and she leant away, smiling brazenly.

Her arms were still around him, and, he raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. "I like this kind of story the best, _Signorina Brasca_," rubbing the exposed skin of her arms.

"I'm sure you do." She leant up, pushing herself against him, then nipped his mouth with her teeth. "Hmm…" She could not resist him, and leant in for another kiss. It was just as languid and searching as before, and she sighed into it. She pulled away again when his hands found her naked thighs beneath the pleats of her leather skirt.

Zevran knew her game and smirked slightly. "Tell me, my Warden. This tale of yours…" She wriggled out of his embrace, despite wanting so much more, putting a distance between them.

"You want to listen or do you want to… what was it you said? '_Action counts_.' Huh." Missa folded up her arms at him. He could see her cheeks were flushed and her lips were still wet even by moonlight.

"It speaks louder then words, as we Antivans say." They looked to see Alistair blearily step out of the tent and wave at them, the heat between them passing then. Missa walked up to her fellow warden and watched as he staggered around trying to get into his armour, half asleep still. She helped fasten buckles and straps while Zevran sat by the fire, watching her every move.

Alistair was clueless of what was going on and only flicked Zevran a cursory glance. "See you in the morning," he said groggily, then staggered off to the outskirts of the camp to begin his patrol.

She looked at Zevran again and whatever showed on her face was enough for him to rise slowly in a smirk, gaze heated. His strange eyes did not leave hers and with a final nod she gestured for him to follow her.

Their sleeping situation was strange wherever they camped, and usually settled around who was patrolling. Missa occasionally would share a sleeping space with Leliana, sometimes even Sten and Alistair when the moment called for it. But tonight she had her own tent, and she was very, very glad.

She knelt on her bedroll and Zevran sat opposite her. She leant over him to knot the ties of the entrance up loosely, and found his hands grab her hips. Missa straddled him with a grin and ran a gloved hand over his cheek as they kissed again, this time insistent and forceful.

On one motion she was put on her back. She started to undo the straps around her elbows and hands to remove their armour, her mouth never leaving his. Slowly his hands trailed down her stomach and ties and cording was loosened, leathers slipping away, boots kicked away from them. She pulled away to look between them and arched her back slightly so her tunic would come off, and her under shirt followed soon after.

While his mouth raked hers his nimble hands reached around her curved back to unlace her breastband. She used the opportunity to unbalance his position, using a leg to roll him over. Zevran was on his back and she straddled him again, slowly removing the last of her clothing.

He rose up and took a breast in his mouth, thumbing her peaked nipples as she moaned slightly. Finally he lowered his hands down her now sweat slicked skin, lingering on the tattoo on her stomach. When his fingers reached the core of her she almost buckled against him, and Missa heard his chuckle.

She retaliated by rubbing a hand against his length in motion to her strokes, kissing him briefly as they stroked each other. Missa found herself soon peaking, and she leant back in a groan.

Zevran kissed her exposed neck, smiling. "You are very wet." he murmured against her skin. She trembled slightly then dragged her hand to where they were almost joined. Her fingers touched herself briefly over his and she shuddered again.

"What do you know, so I am." She kissed his once forcibly then pushed him again so he was on his back, slowly kissing a path down his chest. She trailed a tongue along the swirling lines of his tattoos, a mirror to his previous actions. Missa flicked briefly over each nipple and was gratified to hear him moan, eyelids tightly shut. He opened them to watch as she trailed a line along the tattoos that covered his ribs, as covered in ink as she, matching the grin on her face. She dipped a tongue in his belly button for her own amusement, then trail a tongue at the tiny, almost invisible strands of blonde that trailed down to his groin, where she kissed and nipped a circle around the muscles of his thighs.

Missa took him hand again and stroked once, twice before licking the tip of him, a rough thumb swiping briefly. She took as much of him as she could and used her lips and mouth and tongue, making him writhe under her very thorough administrations.

He soon had enough and pulled at her arms. She raised an eyebrow and soon she found herself on her back. Hands guided him into her slowly and they both sighed and rocked slightly, getting used to each other.

It was a battle of wills, almost. They moved and changed position without breaking their joining, dizzy with quickness from their thrusts. She found herself gripping his back and arms, legs moving to accommodate whoever was on top. She came once, twice, lost in waves of peaks and found herself crying out, rapt in their union, unsure how the tent was still up.

The world stopped spinning and a heart rate slowed, and they collapsed away from each other in a final groan. She heard him mutter something hopefully approving in his language, and it took all the strength she had to position herself to face him, head resting on her still shaking arms. His chest dipped in heavy breaths, and with a light touch she stroked the tattoo on his ribs.

Zevran jerked suddenly and finally opened his eyes, grabbing her wandering hand. He kissed it once, then turned slightly to face her. "Invigorating."

She snorted into the cradle of her arms and wiped the sweat from her face. "That's one word for it." They slipped back into their own recovery, and she finally spoke again when her breathing settled to normality. "Still want that story?" She said lazily. "Since we've done the action part."

He leant his head on his hands and placed fingers on the scars on her back. "Who says we're done?" She chuckled and finally rose, shaking off the ticklish marks he was making on her skin.

"I'm sure. What do you want to know, though?" She asked bluntly.

Zevran smiled as she pulled on her shirt and settled next to him, not quite touching. "Tell me of this Carta you were in…"

So she did. Missa recalled the hustling and the whoring of her former establishment, touching briefly on her role as general thug for hire and assassin for the more troublesome merchants and traders Beraht wanted dealt with. "The Carta had members in all castes, really. The nobles and the warriors didn't like us much, but they needed us. Beraht was sloppy, but he still held a lot of purse strings. And when you control most of the trade, especially the more desirable items hard to get hold of like wood and spices, then you control the market in Orzammar."

He smirked at that, the words at once familiar and foreign to his Antivan senses. "That is usually how it goes, yes."

"Money is power."

"So you gave up your …lifestyle to become a Grey Warden? I confess I am curious as to how that came to be."

Missa raised her eyebrow and tried to shove down the sudden hurt she felt over her departure from Orzammar. "That's a story for another night, perhaps." She stretched up to touch the tattoo on his face. "What does that mean?" She asked. He tilted her head and touched the inked design above her eye, then to her brand, copying her gesture.

"You first," he said with a smile.

"This one," she said, pointing to her brand, "shows the castes where to spit. And this one," she said, pointing to the geometric design over most of her right eye, "means I don't give a shit about it."

He chuckled slightly and pulled her to him, touches getting insistent and sensual once more, pulling her closer into his embrace. "I am marked to show that I am what I am," he whispered into her ear.

She leant up to kiss him, and he sighed into her mouth. "So am I," she replied back.

There was not much talking after.

* * *

It was hot enough the next few days for Missa to remove her cloak. The heat of the sun beat down on them all, arms and legs bared to the rays. Alistair and Leliana had caught the brunt of it on their exposed skin, and Missa amused herself by pressing her fingers into their reddened flesh and seeing the finger prints left behind.

Finally she was shooed away by a grumpy Leliana vexed of too much prodding. She ended up walking with Morrigan, and the witch was in a good enough mood to talk. After awhile the subject came up of their Mothers, just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The small stream next to them threw golden light in their direction, and she saw Sten bend down to drink a mouthful, sweat on his brow.

Missa found herself clenching her fists at her own bitter memories, jaw tight. "Ah well," she said to her friend as she put rest to a particularly nasty ghost from her memories. "At least they taught us one thing, Morrigan…"

"Oh?" The witch asked, golden eyes curious.

Missa snorted and rubbed her nose briefly. "They taught us not to end up like them."

Morrigan actually laughed, a girlish thing that rang out around them, seemingly bouncing off the peaks of the distant mountains. Curiously Zevran raised an eyebrow at the noise, despite his conversation with Leliana. She kept her distance from the elf since that night; even though she thought they were being subtle, there were still a heated gaze and things unsaid between them every time she looked his way.

"We're not our Mothers," she said to Morrigan quietly then, surprised at the roughness of her voice.

The witch was thoughtful, her gaze low. Missa knew enough about that look to know the conversation was over, and headed to walk with Alistair. He viewed her cautiously, a hand over his burnt nose protectively in case she felt like poking it again.

It was then she heard a noise. She held out her hand and Dog came running back from his scouting position up ahead, all teeth and hackles bared. She signalled for the group to move out quietly, and they did, weapons unsheathed.

They were only bandits, but not the half starved, desperate kind she had come across before. These looked like thugs on the look out for opportunity, and it appears they thought they could take their diverse band on. She waited for the first move, daggers at the ready.

Missa did a quick count and realised they were outnumbered two to one. So she did the tried and tested, and ran straight in when a bolt was shot in her direction. She heard Alistair sigh his annoyance and follow, shield raised.

"Warden watch out-" Zevran ran his dagger through the throat of the woman about to flank her side, and she kicked away from the heavy warrior trying to pin her down. Her blades made light work of him and she fixed Zevran with a look, knowing he saved her life.

"Thanks," she offered shortly. The Antivan shrugged shortly, but not before turning elegantly to sweep another off of his feet and aim a stab under his enemy's ribs.

It was then she saw Leliana go down, dropping her bow to the floor in a cry. Arrows pieced her side and a bandit was making his way towards her to finish the job.

"Morrigan!" Missa yelled, and gestured for cover. She ran over leapt onto the bard's assailant and used the momentum to knock him over, feigning a lunge as she did so. She ran through her daggers in one fluid motion to an exposed throat, then ran to the wardog about to leap at Morrigan's side. Sten got there first and knocked the animal over with a grunt, his broadsword snapping spine.

Once everything stopped Missa walked over to Leliana. "Oh girl," she said quietly. "What did they do to you?" She put her hand to the unconscious bard's forehead and gestured for Morrigan. Missa put a hand to the wounds on her side and pressed, trying to stop the flow of blood.

She fixed the witch a questioning look and was waved off. "She will not die, Warden. Give me a moment to work."

Missa stood up and surveyed the others: Sten was watching the distance for stragglers; Zevran was meticulously cleaning his daggers, eyes flicking around quickly; Alistair was looking for survivors, face grim. Dog nudged her leg and she called out to the group.

"Looks like we've been setback a day. Sten, Zevran… You're on clean up duty with me. Alistair, help Morrigan carry Leliana and start setting up camp."

As she started to drag the bodies away from the running water, the sun clouded over. "Typical," she muttered to no one in particular.

* * *

Leliana was safe, but needed rest so Morrigan's magic and herbing skills could take proper effect. Missa had so far spent the day repacking her back, fixing armour and counting and recounting supplies with the bard recouped. Finally bored of waiting, she took her washcloth and headed to where the stream joined a river, intent on finding a decent bathing spot.

Missa got distracted, however, when a familiar wave of nostalgia hit her when she placed a bare foot on sun-warmed stone. Up she climbed until she was at the top of a formation overlooking the running water, and there she stood for awhile, eyes closed.

She put her hand on the water battered granite and felt the heat there, a smile on her lips. No one was around, and with a look over her shoulder she knelt down and smelt it, a cheek against the rock. It was like the scent of Orzammar, though minus the muddy polluted filth and stink of the coal and lavastone fires, of course.

Realising how foolish she looked, Missa brought her knees up to her chest, resting her head briefly on her knees. She looked down and saw Morrigan approach with her backpack. "Warden," the witch said with an eyebrow raised.

Missa rolled her eyes and stretched briefly, looking over at the sun dappled water in front of them. "If we're using titles around here, shouldn't I be calling you apostate? Maybe witch."

Morrigan chuckled and Missa was glad; the woman was tentatively developing a sense of humour. "If that is the case, Warden, Alistair is now '_idiot_.'"

"When has that ever stopped you calling him that before?" Missa replied quickly.

"Hah."

Missa got up with a sign and made her way back down the rocks, removing her shirt and breeches as she went. She put the discarded clothing on the driest of rocks closest to the water and went up to her waist, suspicious of going out any further.

"If any other bandits, darkspawn or possibly Zevran turns up while I'm trying to wash please turn them all into toads. Plenty of water for them to swim in…"

Morrigan looked at her in barely concealed irritation and removed her boots, refusing completely to follow Missa into the water. "Zevran? You mean the elf that tried to kill you, and now warms your bed at night? That Zevran, perhaps?"

Missa turned around to face her and laughed. "Nothing gets past you, girl."

The witch smirked and began to wash the clothes she brought. "Yes, well."

Tentatively Missa submerged herself and rose quickly, coughing. Dwarves weren't exactly the strongest of swimmers, but she did like being clean. As she dipped quickly to immerse her shoulders, she looked at Morrigan wring out a pair of drawers. "Does it bother you?" She asked. "Zevran, I mean." Missa thought of the conversation they had after Redcliffe over her last tumble.

"It's none of my business, Warden. But I would be careful, were I you. You are giving the assassin another opportunity to fulfil his contract in a situation much more familiar to him."

Missa shrugged at that. It wasn't that she trusted Zevran, but she knew a dagger wasn't going anywhere near her ribs last night. "I'll take my chances. What about you?" She asked, thinking the poor woman probably needed some action. Morrigan looked up from her washing and raised an eyebrow. "I mean, there's only Sten and Alistair left… We could share Zevran, perhaps. I'm not one for sharing, mind, and I suppose we might break him betwe-"

"Enough!" The witch slapped down her washing and Missa laughed heartily as water went everywhere, holding up her hands in defeat.

"Alright, alright. I'll stop." She left the woman alone in peace while she continued her laundry.

Once Missa was convinced she was clean enough she headed back to the rocks, slipping on her breeches while she combed out her hair with quick fingers. Morrigan left without a word said, and Missa allowed herself one moment of indulgence. She settled down completely against the rock, allowing the heat of the sun and the stone soak into her skin.

A pebble skittered near her and she lifted her daggers at the ready, waiting. Zevran was climbing up the rocks to her, leaping as easily as a cat.

She looked up from her sunbathe and saw that he was naked to the waist like her, breeches undone just so. She rolled her eyes as he sat next to her, chuckling at his feigned attempts at casual. His hair was wet and tied back without his usual braids, and he smelt of soap and river water.

"Zevran," she said in greeting, looking up from the pillow of her arms briefly. He laid next to her and leant on his elbows, settling onto the rock next to her.

"Leliana awoke briefly to eat, then went back to sleep. We should be fine to move on tomorrow. According to the lovely witch, anyhow." He put his head back and closed his eyes up to the sun, trying to soak up the last of the setting rays.

"Good," she replied shortly, and settled back into her position with a sigh. Zevran heard it and chuckled.

"We are like lizards, you and I. Trying to get the warmth in our bones before Ferelden weather decides to chill us again."

She rolled over and opened an eye briefly, shading the light of the sky from her gaze, a smile on her lips. His eyes raked over her exposed curves unabashedly. "I suppose I should get up and do something since I've been so lazy," she replied. She bent over and fetched her breast band, but was found in an embrace instead. "Zevran…" She warned. Lips were placed against the dip of her cleavage and she sighed.

They found each other again on warmed rock, the sun heating their skin. He kissed a line down her stomach and pulled her breeches off in one motion, completely naked and exposed. His knelt slightly and kissed the curve of her waist, and she shuddered despite her reluctance. "Now, now, my dear… There's still time for us to recoup and rest, don't you think?"

She allowed herself to collapse against the stone, legs astride him. "I suppose…" Was all she managed, hands just in reach of her daggers.

It was quick, their coupling. She straddled his crossed legs and he met her thrusts with a grin, occasionally biting her shoulder. When he finally came a few moments after her, she kissed him once, tasting herself on his tongue. "That was fun," she told him, then patted his shoulder as she slowly detangled herself from their embrace.

With a final look down at him she pulled on her breeches carefully, mindful of the mess. He leant back to look at her unashamedly. "What now?" Zevran asked, not bothering to reach for his clothes yet.

Missa frowned at that. "I'm going back to the camp to check up on Leli and sort out tomorrow." As she pulled on her shirt, she looked at him. "As tempting as it is to stay out here… You know. Things to do."

Zevran laughed and pushed his hair over his shoulder. "I meant, do we keep these …_meetings_ reoccurring?"

"Oh… I see." Missa hadn't really given it much thought. "Let's see how it goes, shall we? Though I must say things have been far more interesting then usual since you've arrived, Zevran Arainai."

He laughed and finally rose to pull his trousers on. "Of that I agree. Well then, let's be moving, yes? Darkspawn to kill, legends to chase…"

They set of to Haven the day after, and she found herself smiling more, despite what laid ahead of them.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So I intended to write about the Ashes and Zevran decided to whore himself in my head instead. Goddammit Zevran, put some clothes on. you're distracting me from plot…


	14. Blasphemy

Missa thought Haven was creepy, even by usual Chantry standards. When the evidence of apparent blood sacrifice and weird rituals were unearthed, she was glad her companions were equally as baffled by what went on there... Or she would be telling just about all surface religion to shove off in future.

They finally found a crippled Gentivi. The scholar was a man who, despite his torture and injuries by the villagers, was enraptured with his find, joyful even.

The anger at why they were here had returned, but she knew she had to hide it. When Gentivi directed them to the entrance of the temple, she tried to think, to justify the reasons again why they were here, trying to focus and not think it to be the biggest waste of time.

While the dusty caches they scalped from the long dead offered a little consolation, they did not completely soothe the gnarling pit of worry in her stomach, triggered by her apprehension they had taken part in something monumentally time wasting and foolish.

What she actually wanted was a drink, and Missa clenched her fists in anger at her weakness, thankful she was miles away from the closest tavern.

Violence, however, would soothe her rage momentarily. She laughed in the faces of the supposed leaders of this cult, refusing to talk. She soon found herself dancing with their blades again, dragonkin and humans alike gutted with her daggers.

As they made their way to the upper levels of the temple, the stench of the sulphur pits greeted them first. There was an undercut of a sharp tang of something she could not quite catch -magic, perhaps? The air always smelt like the sharpness of a storm after Morrigan had been using her spells heavily, and it was the same here.

The roar around them soon let her know what it was she was sensing."We're not going to… Fight that, are we?" Asked Zevran, as they all watched the large dragon circle the open air to roost. She smiled at him evilly, lip curled up.

"I don't know about you, Zev… But I feel like stabbing this Andraste into tiny, tiny pieces." He chuckled despite himself, and Missa wrenched the horn she took from the corpse of the cult's leader further into her grip.

"You want us to hit a big dragon? Right," Alistair drawled sarcastically to her left, crossing his arms suddenly.

"Dragonbone and scale are useful, expensive things," she murmured, the duster in her calculating net and worth.

She took off suddenly then, Dog at her heels. "Hey! Ugly!" She yelled, waving her hands.

Zevran cursed in Antivan and followed in disbelief. "Are you insane, woman?" He sprinted over to her running position, daggers unsheathed.

"It's what I keep on saying, no one listens…" Alistair muttered, shield raised.

"Andraste" noticed, however. The horn was not needed, and Missa chuckled as she threw it away, slowly pulling her weapons to her side.

"Time for some fun," she said to no one in particular. "Wait for it," she muttered, gesturing everyone to hold. Dog growled softly, and she held her hand. As the dragon beat strong looking wings closer to them, she made a cutting move with her hand. Most dived out the way, just missing teeth and claws.

Alistair used his shield to take the brunt of a roar, refusing to move with the rest; Morrigan deflected her magic to repel most of the fire, and Missa hoped Alistair's armour would do the job of protecting her friend.

"Oh, Maker…" She heard him mutter, sword arm raised.

"Sten!" She called, and the Qunari dragged his weapon into a thigh. The dragon howled in pain, turning suddenly in an awkward stagger. Missa found herself tail whipped around her middle, breath knocked out of her lungs.

In one motion she tucked and rolled as she landed with a jolt on solid ground, using the momentum to turn around. She tasted blood at the back of her throat and she ran back into the fray, trying to ignore the pain in her ribs.

"Zev!" He nodded at the weak spot in the crease of a leg, and he grinned at her.

The pair of them leapt up, using their weapons as fulcrums to clamber up the beast. She managed to drive a dagger into toughed scales, gritting her teeth at the strength needed to even make a mark.

Zevran, however, had other ideas. He swung over and pushed his blades into sinewy, leathery wings. The motion, however, put him at a disadvantage. A sharp mouth whipped around and grabbed the elf by his waist, and he was flung away from the dragon, roaring in pain at the damage done.

She growled and pulled herself up by her daggers, finding the strength then to injure and maim. She saw a flash of blonde as Zevran staggered to his feet, a hand to his stomach. Grimly she pushed her blades in further, gritting her teeth against the jolting motions.

It was a fine distraction. Arrows pierced eyes, magic froze the beast in place, Morrigan and Leliana working from a safe distance. Missa caught the witch's face briefly and they grinned at the joy of it.

Something exploded in a blinding heat of white around them -Morrigan's work, no doubt- and Missa tried to grip, scales rough and cutting her thighs despite the armour she wore. The damage done to the wings by Zevran landed the beast, and she managed to push her daggers straight into the skull, leaping inelegantly as the body collapsed.

Sten walked over and pushed his blade into the still breathing chest, blood spilling everywhere. Alistair stumbled from under a broken wing, dazed. "Right. Let's not do that again…" He muttered. He was covered head to toe in blood, and she wiped a hand over his breastplate, amused by the amount.

"Ha! _Glorioso_!" She heard, and saw Zevran grin wickedly, leaping about like a madman despite injuries. Missa found herself in an embrace and kissed victoriously on both cheeks, blood staining her face from his gloves. He went over to kiss Alistair, but was waved off suddenly.

I don't think so," Alistair said, trying not to slip up in entrails as he backed away from the Antivan.

"Ladies?" He gestured to Morrigan and Leliana, and a finger was pointed his way by an angry Morrigan.

"Do so and I will finish what the dragon failed to do, elf."

"Ah, you Fereldens. So fussy."

She snorted at Zevran then, trying to ignore her injuries. "Let's skin the bitch and move on," Missa said, moving away from the rapidly pooling blood around her boots. "I would quite like a trophy."

* * *

They were all covered in gore, and there was nothing they could do about it. Blood streaked her face like war paint, and she tried to rub it off as they entered the upper levels; dragon blood was apparently viscous enough to stick.

She gestured silently for Zevran to follow her through the tunnels, the pair of them scouting in blissful silence ahead. It was something they both were used to, and even though she knew Leliana was more then capable of helping, the bard's enthusiasm about the more religious aspects of their journey was beginning to grate. She needed space from Maker _this_ and Andraste _that_, or she would soon snap and say something she'd regret.

They finally swept the area clean of traps. Missa spotted him looking at a statue, and curiously she followed his gaze.

"He looks miserable," she said shortly. She was brusque and her eyes were gaunt in annoyance; Zevran knew Missa was angry again, whatever ghost of anger at being here pinching her.

"Mournful, considering who he is. It is Maferath… Andraste's husband. The one that betrayed her, of course. Oh, do not act so shocked. I went to the Chantry as a boy."

She snorted once, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. "So he's the one that watched his missus get screwed by the Maker, then? Kinky."

He leant an arm over her shoulder and gestured vaguely up at the statue. "What man could compete against an immortal?"

"Right." She looked at him as his hand wandered down her arm, a vaguely comforting gesture. It had been awhile since they touched, and it was sparking something. He caught the look in her eye and Zevran saw the challenge.

She pushed against him suddenly and he chuckled. "Here? How scandalous."

Missa knew she was covered in drying dragon blood and probably smelt bad, and she really did not care where the hell they were. ""Why not? Does it matter to you?" She kissed him roughly, and felt him smile.

"Temptress." She laughed at the word, _her_?

She reached under his armour and loosened his breeches. "Really? Whatever."

There was no foreplay, no pretence of intimacy. She was shoved against the statue and armour was roughly pushed aside, mouths and hands fraught in their work. In one motion he entered her and she tightly shut her eyes to lose herself in their coupling, gritting her teeth at the thrusts. Missa met his movements just as violently, exactly the pace she wanted. Despite it all she found her pleasure growing, but her anger and hate was still a murmur in her thoughts.

_Fuck them all, the Chantry, Arl Eamon, stupid humanity, the Paragons, the Deshyrs who kept her under their boots in Dust Town, the Beraht's in this world… Fuck them all_. "Urgh…"

Missa did not finish silently, and gripped him closer to her as she came. When she finally opened her eyes, Zevran stoked her face, his gaze almost tender. He made to pull out, but she gripped his arms. "You haven't…" She started to say, moving against him slightly and feeling his hardness still.

Zevran kissed once then pushed her away gently. "You needed it more then I," he whispered into her ear, running a hand along the lines of her waist. She trapped him with a leg hooked over his hips and he sighed, despite himself. He was soon pressed back into her.

"Liar," she replied roughly. Missa tightening her muscles around him, then raised an eyebrow. Slowly she began moving, watching his tawny eyes widen briefly, desire returning.

He finally groaned and gave up, resolve breaking, and turned his face from her. He thrust harder, gasping as she was shoved back against the statue again. Fingernails dug into her waist and she knew he would leave bruises, and she found herself against unyielding stone, watching as he buckled and pushed himself wildly into her.

One look at his grimace showed his thoughts were million miles from where they were, and Missa found it oddly vulnerable, whatever barriers he raised torn down momentarily. She wanting to know suddenly his thoughts, where he was, what had happened for him to deflect her so much, for him to find release like this. Did she look as desperately searching in their coupling? Was she just as guarded?

Zevran came just as loudly, voice guttural and incoherent. The pair of them almost buckled, staggering slightly. Zevran rested a damp forehead against her shoulder, and Missa knew that her body would remember his marks for a long time.

She kissed his temple as he pulled away gently from her, nerves still jangled. He faced the statue of Mafarath and mockingly bowed, making a gesture she'd seen Leliana make a thousand times over, but with a smirk on his face. He muttered something in Antivan -perhaps a prayer, perhaps not- and she politely kept her distance and waited until he was finished, bucking up her armour. "You really do live up to your _Miss Damnation _name, do you know this?"

Missa felt a tiny slither of guilt. "Do or die," she said, thinking of Leske, somehow. Do or die, their duster motto, a bitter toast to everything.

"We did the _doing _part rather admirably, if I do say so myself. Ah, I'm sure Mafarath does not mind. He is, after all, used to watching."

"Yeah. Just as long as he doesn't tie me to a pyre after and shove a sword in my chest, I'm fine with it," she muttered.

"Oh? I shall remember that."

One look over her shoulder and a quick glance his way showed the mask was back on, his eyes unreadable again. "Come on," she said. "Let's go back to the others."

* * *

Tests. The place was obsessed with testing, and Missa had little patience.

"You are the woman that stands before me in bold defiance of your actions. I saw you, and what you did under the shadows of Mafarath."

"That's nice," She said blandly, facing an ageless man. He presented himself as the Guardian, and his question rankled her. Did he expect her to throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness at being caught with her knickers around her ankles?

His presence seemingly unnatural. He has a look, a smell that she could not place. Not quite the after burn of sulphur and blood she had started to associate with magic, but something else familiar.

"I am the Guardian. Tell me, do you regret your time spent in the temple of our Lady, and the course of action you took?"

"Oh, I see! So you were both on your hands and knees _praying dutifully _when you were, hmm what was it? 'Scouting for traps'? How spiritual," Morrigan said, amused. Leliana looked at them both in a frown, disappointed etched into her face as she finally worked out what the Guardian was hinting at.

Missa faced him with no shame, and was about to answer when Zevran put a fist to his mouth and coughed politely. "'When you are standing in the shadow of the Maker, you breathe in and out with the entire universe. In this state, your life is fulfilled.'" His voice was rhythmic; everyone was listening.

Missa realised then he was quoting something from the Chant, but not sure what; what would she know of surfacer droning? "'This is how the Maker means us to live, intoxicated in love and joy and sweet union. And through our joy, the Maker receives His joy. The joy of us is the joy of the Maker,'" the elf continued, words echoing slightly in the chilled stone room.

She caught Alistair raising his eyebrows and she half shrugged at him, unsure as he what to say. She knew he hadn't worked out what the others had twigged onto, or he'd be blushing furiously otherwise.

The Guardian acknowledged his citation with a bowed head. "It is fitting you would recite that particular Canticle of Shartan, Zevran Arainai. Very well, I will overlook your profane imprudence in the place of our Holy Lady, in favour of knowing what lies in your heart. This I am blessed with."

Zevran mirrored the Guardian's bow, refusing to look at her. "Uh… Well. Is that it?" Was all Missa managed, but apparently the Guardian still had more to ask her.

"I ask you, Missa Brosca of the Grey Wardens, one more question. You rose above your caste to become what you are, yet you left your family behind. Do you regret your actions?"

Missa laughed and put her hands on hips, eyes suddenly angry. "What sort of a stupid question is that? My _regret_ is none of your concern," she said, jaw tight. "How does this help the test? How do you know about that?"

It is my duty, and my gift from Andraste," the Guardian said. "You know your own, Warden."

"If you say you can see things into my past, then you must have seen Dust Town, and know I had no choice," she said quietly.

It was apparently enough, and she passed. But it was not over. The others had not escaped the Guardian's questions, and she tried not to pry when they were faced. Alistair's revelation did not surprise her, but the depth did. The reaction to Leliana's "vision" made Missa raise her eyebrows, and Zevran's…

His voice caught at the words spoke to him. Out of the many things he admitted he'd even said and done, the Guardian focused on one thing that undid him. Missa did not quite catch the confession due to the Antivan's interruption of his words.

Zevran's carefully circumspect appearance slipped, and for once she heard from him anger. Missa looked sideways at him briefly and he caught her gaze; she saw the barest flicker of regret. She looked away to leave him to his misery and right himself again, despite her curiosity.

"Let's go," she said dully. Her friends followed after, as pensive as she. Missa would be glad to see the back of this place, and soon.

* * *

Anger was building again, and she hurt. Her legs ached, her back wound was itching and chafing against the bandages and there was more tests, more-

"What's shakin'?"

"Leske?" She stopped, then looked him over. She made to put a hand out to him, but stopped, unsure what her eyes were seeing. He was healthier then she thought he would be, but there was still something not right. She tightened her jaw, then looked up at him. "You're not Leske," Missa said quietly.

"'Tis more spirits to vex us," Morrigan said over her shoulder. She did not remove her eyes from her salroka. "Leske" spoke to her again, and Missa had no idea what she said, how she responded. Numbly she opened her hands to see a necklace there.

"What the fuck am I meant to do with this?" She said to no one in particular. Shakily she put it in her pocket. Did they pull out her memories to play cat paw with? Leske… Maybe he was dead now and Jarvia had caught up with him. Maybe the copy of her friend was right; he was really in danger, it was do or die, maybe-

"Warden?" There was a hand on her shoulder, and Missa almost snarled, dark eyes glittering dangerously. Morrigan, of all people, offering comfort. "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

The smell that made her nose itch returned, and she sneezed. "You smell that?" She asked, then shook her head. Everyone was sweating despite the cold, faces shiny and eyes glinting strangely by the glow of the torches.

"The smell of incense, self flagellation and confession, my dear. It is a temple," said Zevran. His mask had returned, but it appeared to be pinching; the smile never quite reached his eyes.

Leliana gripped her bow tightly in her hands, face rapt. "This is Andraste's final resting place. Do you know what this means? For us to be here? To see this?"

"Enough, all of you," she said then. Tiredly she pinched her irritated nose, trying to hold back another sneeze. That smell, it was like something familiar from Orzammar… Sometime magic, but not.

She made her way up to the line of fire that barred their entrance, but was grabbed by Alistair. "Wait, look." He pointed to a plinth. "There's an inscription. Something about… Oh, _no_." Missa read it slowly alongside him; the old Ferelden words clumsy to process, but she worked it out soon.

"Fine. Everyone strip, I guess. I've seen you all naked anyway," Missa said shortly.

Alistair staggered at that, trying to remove his armour quickly. "What?"

It was naked she had to step through fire. She got symbolism, but why did it have to be so draughty?

* * *

Missa was in no mood to talk, to face anyone. Quietly she worked through her thoughts, trying to rationalise why she had a pouch of ashes wrapped in one of her shirts in her bag. She ended up walking out of the temple with Sten and her dog, both hardly brilliant conversationalists.

"_Pashaara_," he exclaimed at her as he caught her frowning again. "This Chantry guilt you insist on reliving does nothing."

"I have no Chantry guilt," she offered him, glaring suddenly.

"What good is a derelict God?"

"No arguments from me, Sten. It's all surface twaddle to me."

They walked in silence until the Quanari spoke again. "There is a tale my people tell about a great _ashkaari _who came to a barren land…" Sten started to tell her a fable of his homeland, and if Missa was honest, it sounded exactly like the waffle Leliana spouted to her on occasion about Andraste. Something he said stayed with her, though: "When the _ashkaari_ greeted the starving people, he said: 'change yourself. You make your own world.'"

Missa thought of Dust Town and touched the lines of her brand distantly. "You know what? You'd make a _brilliant _dwarf."

"What sort of statement is that to make? Make sense, Warden."

Missa smirked up at him, neck starting to hurt from looking up at him for too long. "Maybe the Ashes will work, Sten. Maybe not," she said, finally answering his question he was fumbling for. "All I do know is that the right people will _think_ it will work, and that's enough for me."

"If you truly believe that, then the words I have spoken were a waste of my breath, and I would've bettered my time listing the types of cloud in the sky."

She grinned up at him. "Not entirely. I believe in survival, Sten. Like your …ash-karee, is it? Making your own change… I can cope with that. That sounds a lot like survival to me." Sten furrowed his massive brow once, then nodded. The conversation was dropped, and she knew enough about the Qunari to know the time for chatting was over.

Camp was subdued after it had be put up; everyone darted looks between Zevran and Missa, expecting them to retire together. Pointedly she ignored them all and went to bed alone, holding the necklace given to her from the temple; it was a curious thing, slightly warm to the touch still. She refused to wear it; it was a symbol of something she found distasteful, a gift from a liar.

Sleep was fractured. She woke up again in a fit of sneezes. Something finally righted itself into place, some nugget of information finally clicking into joint from the familiarity that had rankled her since they entered the upper reaches of the temple.

"Lyrium…" She half whispered, then laughed out loud despite herself. The air there reeked of it. Even her duster senses managed to spot the substance. She chewed her lip, wondering what to do with the new information. Magic and lyrium, while beyond her ken, was a far more rational matter to deal with then faceless Gods.

Missa took the necklace from under her bedroll and opened her tent flaps, standing up to pitch it as far as she could from the edge of their camp. She nodded once at an awake Sten, who watched her throw with his usual stern passivity. Missa was not sure, but she was convinced she saw a glint of approval at her action.

The next morning they packed and set off quickly. Leliana was refusing to speak with her, to be anywhere even near her since they left Andraste's final resting place.

Giving up, she walked with Zevran, too stubborn to approach the bard just yet. The Antivan raised an eyebrow at her, and she tiredly sighed at him, blowing hair out of her eyes. "Did you sleep well, Warden?" He asked politely, not saying the unsaid.

"Not really," Missa replied bluntly. She expected a sleazy offhand comment, but when she got none she looked up at him again. He fixed her calmly with a curious look, and she almost wished he did flirt back.

"Care to answer some questions?" He asked her, and Missa hid a yawn in a gloved hand.

"Sure, got nothing better to do."

"I know your thoughts of the Chantry. I know you were… Hesitant to come here. And yet you completed the tests, with little resistance."

"What did you expect me to do? Piss in the urn?"

He laughed briefly, then stretched his arms up until something clicked. "No. Actually, I did not know what you would do, but I must say I find myself surprised by whatever you decide. Travelling with you is an education, _Signorina Brasca_."

Missa took Zevran's hand then and squeezed it gently once. She let go quickly, but it was enough.

It was a tiny thing, a small gesture, but it shifted something between them. Zevran flexed the hand she had held briefly, wondering what felt different.

"I can say the same about you," she said quietly, and they walked on in silence until they stopped for lunch.

"Leliana," Missa said finally, walking up to the bard and offering her a peace offering of dried rations. Cold blue eyes looked at her briefly, then she shifted away slightly. "So, uh…" She tried, thinking what to say. "Would you mind singing a song after we've eaten?"

"I do not feel like singing," was the short answer.

Missa raised her eyebrows and tried not to look too contrite, finally taking the woman's hidden disappointment head on. "Look, I think I know what I did that's gotten you as jumpy as a fellcat, but I really do not appreciate the silent treatment right now. I've had enough judgements and holy condemnation to last me a life time, and I don't appreciate it from you," she said brusquely.

Morrigan turned around then to say something, face a picture of thunder. It warmed Missa's heart that her friend was no doubt ready to spit back vitriol in the bard's face, but she silenced her with a look that said: _I can handle this_.

"I-- would never do such a thing. I just-"

Missa waved her hands in the air and made a sound of irritation. "I am not ashamed of what I did, Leliana."

"How could you, though?" Leliana rounded on her, hurt lining her features. Missa was very angry this was coming, from all people, a bard. Leliana's mask was just as firmly in place as Zevran's, but she could see through it far more easily. Why did these surfacers think she was stupid? She might have grown up only knowing Dust Town, but she was a quick learner.

Missa faced the bard head on, letting her anger go for now. Zevran watched the pair of them from a safe distance, ochre eyes darting between the women curiously. "How could I what, Leli?" Missa said tiredly, knowing what was coming anyway.

"Do …that in the temple! With him!" She leant in to whisper. There was anger there, but it was subdued. Mostly the bard seemed curious, questions in her eyes. This wasn't about the temple so much now, but her association with Zevran. Leliana was angling for an answer from her, and Missa did not know how to reply.

"Hey, you heard the Guardian," she replied, eyebrow raised. "Apparently it wasn't blasphemy, but a joyous union."

She heard Morrigan snort in disbelief to her side. The witch sorting through herbs from her bags, as watchful as Zevran. Everyone was apparently curious at their conversation, and she glared around her trying to catch prying eyes. Alistair looked away too quickly, suddenly finding the skyline interesting.

"But it was so… Tasteless," Leliana continued.

Missa laughed. She caught Zevran's eye and he matched her smile, eyes gleaming wickedly. "Since when did I claim to be a Paragon of taste and style, Leliana? Didn't you tell me once that the Ferelden clothes I wore were practically dull?"

"I- no, I didn't mean it like that."

Zevran caught up with the pair and walked up to them. "My Warden, might I add you fill your _practically dull _clothes beautifully? In Antiva, however, you would be in the finest of leathers and silks, and look just as gorgeous." Missa put her dirty hands to her chest and gasped mockingly.

Leliana beamed suddenly, back onto a subject she could speak about freely. "In Orlais you would be in velvets and chiffons and look even _more_ beautiful. Oh!" The bard clapped her hands once, thinking about it. "A blue velvet, perhaps? You would be nice in blue, with a pretty trim to offset your waist."

The Antivan waved his hands dismissively. "How vulgar, honestly. In Antiva we clothe our children in velvet. No, for a dangerous beauty such as yourself you would be in the finest leather made for the deadliest of Crows. None of this tacky chiffon and tawdry Orlesian colours."

"Oh! Of all the… How dare you!" Leliana said, affronted. "Val Royeaux sets trends!"

"I don't think so. Antiva sneezes, Orlais suddenly catches a cold…"

Missa started coughing in fits of laughter, the duster in her sneering at the thought of owning luxury. "I'm going to leave you two to it, I think. I'll go work on my, uh, _dangerous beauty _with my dog, or something." She casually walked up to Alistair and her mabari, still amused. One quick smile at Zevran showed her thanks at his well placed interruption; he was able to deflect the bard from asking more questions neither of them wanted answered just yet, and he winked briefly, his veiled demeanour momentarily lifted.

"Don't you listen to the gaudy foreigners," Alistair said loudly. "You're just as fine as you are," He offered, a wry eyebrow raised, a makeshift sandwich in his hands. "Ferelden style is solid, practical, built to last… Like a traditional Ferelden oak tree."

"And do dogs pee up it too?" She shot back, dark eyes mischievous. Alistair chuckled a reply, and she found herself smiling again.

The tone of the party changed then, and the atmosphere relaxed suddenly. Her thoughts were briefly far from judgement and religion, but her mind was returning to Orzammar no matter how much she tried to forget.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

More sex and religion? Blame Zevran. He made me, honest.

A question for regular readers, if you wouldn't mind indulging me. The reason I can only appear to write a chapter or two a week is that I write 5000/6000 word chapters now; if this is too much, I can break them down further into more friendly sections, if it is easier to read.


	15. Second Chances

It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

When their group detoured from their original plan of heading back to Redcliffe, she was surprised at the lack of arguing from everyone. Her decisions were being questioned less, and Missa wondered when they started to become so resolute for her companions.

She knew _dwarva _work when she saw it. The base of the mountain pass was a good spot for travellers, and was well trod by traders and merchants alike. Missa's ears had perked at the word _golem_, and she brought the dwarf-made rod on a whim, along with some boots that were, apparently, genuine Antivan leather. The perky merchant she bartered with was fairly insistent on practically giving his stock away, but who was she to argue?

Missa was no dust-brained Casteless stupid enough _not_ to have heard of a golem, and of course knew of their legend. She still had no idea why she brought both items, considering that the rod itself seemed heavily adapted and scratched. Despite the modifications, she still recognised a few of the runes, however.

The boots, on the other hand, she did not know were genuine or not; the reasons behind her purchase unsettled her far more then she thought.

Honnleath wasn't so much of a diversion from Redcliffe, and put only three days on their journey. When they arrived the place seemed as isolated and as loony as Haven was, a quiet and disturbed community fractured this time by the Blight and not a cult.

Of course, it wasn't going to be as easy as simply strolling up and helping herself to a walking weapon. More strange, magic beasties to kill in a town already overrun with darkspawn, corpses littering the streets like trash. It felt right killing them, in a way; it reminded her what she was doing on the surface in the first place.

When Missa finally released the golem from its prison, she knew she had found a sizeable ally, relieved that their diversion was good for something. Little did she know, however, it would be so _surly_.

* * *

They left the village quietly, the bodies of darkspawn seeping into the muddy ground. Months ago they would've dragged them to a fire and burnt them, and Missa wondered when she had stopped caring.

The second day with the golem was interesting. The thing -Shale, its name- had interesting quirks, and Missa found herself amused mostly by whatever came out of its' mouth.

"I have a song for you, Shale. It's about a bird," Leliana had said later in the afternoon, the mountains further away from them.

"Pah," the golem rumbled. Missa smirked at the reaction, finding the golem's repulsed reaction to animals amusing.

"But you'll like this one! It's about a bird who sings so loudly and horribly, that a man murders him."

The golem stomped over to the bard, suddenly curious. "Oh? Make the noises from your flappy mouth, then."

As Leliana started singing, Shale interrupted. "You promised me murder! Where is the squishing of the tiny feathered heads?" The bard scowled in irritation at being talked over.

"I haven't gotten to that part yet!" Leliana stopped and glared at the golem further. Missa had collapsed into silent fit of laughter, hands held over her mouth to stop her from betraying any reaction. She refused to look at either Zevran or Alistair, for fear she would start giggling like child, and would not stop.

Two more days passed by uneventfully, the weather getting colder and sharper. Missa missed the brief days of sun they had, thinking of warm lava and stone of her old home again. Bitterly she pushed aside memories, unsettled still by the events of the temple.

Soon they would approach Redcliffe. As she walked with Zevran the pair of them talked about their far warmer homelands, both quietly nostalgic, she found they were being watched. Missa looked over her shoulder to see Morrigan saunter up to the pair of them, suddenly smug about something.

Missa made room so the three of them could walk together along the path, amused that the witch had joined them in a rare act of social niceties. "Morrigan," she said in greeting. Zevran bowed once, watching them both as carefully as a fellcat.

"I am honoured to walk with such beauties today," he said casually. "The Maker has blessed me indeed."

Morrigan smirked at Missa before switching her gaze to him, golden eyes wicked. "I'd be careful were I you, Zevran."

Missa snorted once, knowing the witch was up to something. "Oh?" He replied, his gaze just as iniquitous. "How charitable of you, my dear. What do you think I need to be careful of, exactly? What danger could possibly lurk ahead, that a beautiful woman such as yourself would insist in warning me? You flatter me, my lovely temptress."

Morrigan dismissed his flirting with a sharp hand wave and fixed Missa another self-satisfied look, but not before replying in her lightly caustic manner again. "You may find your charms lacking now that the Warden returns to Redcliffe. After all, her _lover_ there might be awfully disappointed that you warm her bed at night, and seek to rectify matters."

The elf fixed Missa an equally curiously amused glance as she gave a genuine belly laugh, humoured at the witch's words. Morrigan walked away from them both in a chuckle, travelling alone once more. Missa of course knew it was barb meant to sting, but she really did not care.

"Fancy a bet?" She asked. Missa didn't exactly want to hear what he had to say on the matter, and drew attention to something else before Zevran could speak.

"I'm game," he replied, tawny eyes warm, aware of her distraction attempt.

Missa grinned up, her gaze warm and inviting, as mischievous as he. "Let's play '_guess the lover_,'" she said in an undertone. "Let's see if you can work out who Morrigan was on about before they reveal themselves."

Zevran laughed and Morrigan looked over at them both again, an eyebrow raised. Missa leant into him and he wandered his hand down where he could squeeze a sizable portion of _something_. "That is a _fun_ wager. What do I win if I guess correctly?"

She danced away from his hands and jogged up to Alistair, shooting Morrigan a knowing look before she reached him. "I'm sure you can think of something, Zevran," she called out. "Surprise me."

Missa had a feeling she would regret those words, but for now she was in too good a mood not to care. Alistair frowned at the exchange, an eyebrow raised. She shrugged and punched him in the arm for good measure, a grin on her face still.

* * *

Redcliffe seemed different, but the town still had an undertone of emptiness and oppression she came to associate with the place, despite the muddy streets and buildings appearing much more lived in and homely.

They walked the distance to the Arl's castle, the gates open and guarded. Ser Perth himself greeted them as they reached the courtyard, helmet tucked under one arm. Missa arranged her features into something that she hoped appeared serious, looking over her former lover with new eyes. "Warden," he said with a bow, remembering the protocol she set when they first met.

She put her hands on her hips and nodded his way. "You're greeting us, Ser Perth? I'm flattered," Missa said wryly, looking him over on the sly.

"When my scout said you had arrived in the town, I had to check myself," and he smiled politely. His tone and stance was every inch the etiquette expected, and Missa was impressed. She hadn't spotted that their entrance to Redcliffe was watched, and cursed inwardly at her lack of attention. She looked Ser Perth right in the eyes then and evaluated him boldly, trying to place things into her own sense order, slyness gone.

His eyes appeared too squinty and his chin too pointed. The knight's hair was still nice -she liked long hair on a man- and his _very_ human body large and muscled, but there was no spark for her there anymore. She mentally shrugged inwardly; she gave up years ago trying to work her hormones out, and resigned herself to taking what she could get when it came.

"When they said you were here, I had hoped… Oh forgive me, Warden, if my greeting is over zealous, but… You've been gone for a few weeks, long enough to find the Urn, or…" He stopped, flushed. He was genuinely shaken, and Missa was not vain enough to know it was just her arrival. Something had happened since they left, and she wanted to know what.

"Has something changed?" She asked the Knight.

" Forgive my ramblings, Warden. But you could not have come at a more convenient time." She heard Zevran's discreet chuckle to her left and she was beginning to regret her wager.

Missa gestured to her backpack. "I have a pinch of the Ashes in my bags, Ser Perth."

"We found it!" Leliana explained, joy genuine, her face alight with happiness. "The temple is beautiful, Ser Knight. It _exists_."

"If you find giant dragons and creepy cultists beautiful," Alistair muttered. Missa was shocked he was joking, considering how much power this place held over him still. She raised her eyebrows, smiling at her salroka's obvious change since the last time they were here.

The knight gave her such a relieved look her stomach rolled again. Did he really think it would work? Surely it was just the ashes of a long dead woman... "I must take you to the Arl straight away. His condition… It is starting to deteriorate."

As they walked into the castle, she felt Zevran brush past her. "I'll be collecting my winnings in due course, my dear," he whispered into her ear briefly. She ran a hand over her face to try and hide the smile, despite herself.

* * *

The Ashes were given to the healers and Chantry sisters present straight away. They were handled with such reverence and awe that Missa almost regretted wrapping the pouch in her dirty laundry, even if it did keep the relic safe and dry.

While she was welcome in the Arl's private rooms to wait for the supposed miracle cure to happen, Missa was restless. Putting her cloak on, she suddenly thought of something. Walking past the room where Isolde's blood had spilled in a mother's sacrifice, she abruptly remembered the cost. She tightened her hood around her and walked to the dungeons, mind then on a human the castle had seemed to forget about.

Jowan was still there, but thinner, filthier and gaunt. When he saw her he shuffled over to the bars; Missa could see he was weak and ill, and she felt her stomach twist in disapproval at his treatment. "Hello again, Jowan."

"Warden," he said quietly. "Does this mean the Arl is awake?"

She shrugged. "Not sure. I got the Ashes, but… I don't know what they're doing with them. The healers and the Chantry Sisters insist it will work, though."

Jowan leant against the bars, his head slumped. "That's good, I suppose."

Missa cleared her throat before speaking. "I don't know what they're going to do with you, before you ask."

"Whatever it is, I accept it. I don't think I can make up for all the hurt I've caused people," he replied quickly, face pinched in misery.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say: _never say never_. Instead she shrugged. "You're trying, that's good enough. Isn't that what your Chantry gabbles on about, constantly? Atonement, forgiveness and penance?"

Jowan thought about her words before speaking. "Some things cannot be excused."

She looked away from him, eyes distant and focused on her own past. "Perhaps. The difference between you and I is that _I know _you cannot change what you did."

Missa left him with a curt nod, but soon returned with a plate of hot food and a bucket of clean water. She left them by the bars of the mage's cell without saying a word in return, trying to ignore the resentment building like bile at the back of her throat.

* * *

All of them were called to the Arl's private rooms. Miraculously the Ashes had worked, and Missa quirked her mouth in a bitter grin at the news. Of course they would; fate always did have a way of kicking her with irony.

"Guess that makes you a believer now, huh?" Alistair murmured to her as they walked up the steps to the second floor.

Missa shot him a dark look before speaking. "What do you think?" She replied bluntly. Alistair chuckled and gestured a vague reply.

"I've given up trying to work out what you think," he said wryly.

"Good."

They waited in silence as the Arl, thin and weak from his coma, rose slowly from the bed. He was helped by his brother and his nurse cautiously, insistent he face her standing. "Warden," he said, voice rough and rasping.

"Here, brother," and Teagan helped Eamon drink from a wooden cup slowly.

The Arl cleared his throat and tried again. "I understand I am to thank you for the aid in my healing. While I… Grieve for my wife, I know the situation would have been far graver without the choices you made," Missa did not realise it, but she was holding in her breath. She exhaled briefly, then set her face back to stone, hoping her slip in demeanour was not obvious to all.

"I am sorry for your loss," she replied quietly, hoping the matter would be closed.

The Arl merely nodded once and shuffled forward, slightly unsure on his feet still. Teagan had hold of his elbow still, and he was waved away, the older man stubbornly trying to stand by himself still.

"We should speak of Loghain," the Bann said. Missa and Alistair exchanged a hesitant look, both unsure where this would be leading.

They stood and talked politics bluntly then, the Wardens and the gentry; Missa could see the determined vengeance in the Arl, even in his weakened state, and approved. "Loghain must pay for what he did," she heard Alistair mutter to her right.

"Then I have a suggestion," Eamon stated. "We must challenge the teryn, and I suggest we use a much stronger claim to the throne then just his daughter as leverage."

Missa could see where this was going and pursed her lips suddenly, refusing to look at her friend. "I see," she replied.

Bann Teagan stated the obvious in the room, and Alistair recoiled like he was hit. "What?" He said loudly. "Me? Are you all insane? Do I have a choice, or is this just a matter of convenience?"

Eamon fixed his former ward with a ruthless glare. "Without you, Loghain wins. Do you want that, Alistair? You have a duty, yes… But I believe you will be a brilliant ruler; with the right aid, of course."

If she wasn't so set in masking her emotions, she would be showing some reluctant grudging respect to the way Eamon knew how to press the buttons of Alistair, either by dumb luck or a more brutal drive. She suspected the latter, and wondered on the Arl's motivations.

"We still need time to gather our allies before this Land's Meet happens," she said bluntly.

The Arl nodded slowly, then drew himself up to his full height. "I understand this. It is decided, then?"

She looked at Alistair once, wondering if he would be a puppet or not. "Yes," she said quietly, trying to avoid her friend's gaze. "We will take out leave now," and she turned on her heel to walk away from them all.

"Warden, wait!" Eamon called. Missa turned slightly to face him, gaze unreadable. "None of this would have happened without you. You led Alistair, here, to me. You saved my life with the Ashes of Andraste herself… It is your lead I follow. Whatever decision you make I will stand by."

Missa rested a hand on the pommel of her belted knife and nodded once, jaw tight at the new information. What game was the Arl playing, to give her so much power readily?

She still felt like the Carta thug gripping her fists tightly in front of Beraht, doing as she was told while her hate choked her from speaking. "We will speak in the morning," she replied curtly. "For now, I will let you get your rest. It has been a long day for us all."

Her footsteps were the only sound she made as she left, eyes grimly set in front of her.

* * *

It had been awhile since she'd seen hot water and a bed. While her home in Dust Town wasn't exactly the luxury of an Arl's guest room, it at least had a tub to wash in and a bed to call her own, both comforts hard to come across so far in her travels.

She had decided to head to the Tower then, ignoring Orzammar once more. It made sense, it was closer… And there was the matter of Jowan to take into consideration.

As Missa collapsed face first into the bed, she heard the door knock. Too lazy to get up, she rolled over in irritation. "Who is it?" She asked, slightly muffled by the pillows.

"Er… Me," she heard through the wood. "Alistair, I mean." She rolled her eyes at that, and sat up to pull the bedclothes up to her chin.

"Come in."

Her friend opened the door and turned on his heel slightly to see her in bed, trying to look else where. "Sorry. I didn't know you were in bed," he muttered, still in his armour.

She resisted leaning over and throwing one of her boots at him in spite of his reaction, but only just. "What do you want?" She asked, but not unkindly. She knew he wanted to talk about his sudden push into royalty, and she couldn't exactly blame him.

"I… Do I have to do this?" He blurted out. She gestured for him to sit on the end of her bed, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, thinking things through carefully.

Missa inhaled a long breath before speaking. "Tell you what, salroka. I'll give you a week to think about it… And then we'll talk. If the subject is brought up by the others I'll make sure it's dropped. We have time to head to the Tower and negotiate the treaties with these mages, and until then…" She shrugged, hooking her arms around her knees.

Alistair shuffled slightly on the bed and she felt it move slightly, heavy armour making the wooden slats shake in protest. "Alright. I can handle that, I think." He stood up, running a bare hand though his hair. "I've always been told I wasn't even the spare, you see… And… I was the…" He half gestured, trying to grope for the words tiredly.

"The bastard who slept in the stables," she replied. Alistair frowned, but she was gratified to see that he was either beginning to hide his hurt or was learning how to deal with it.

"Thank you," he blurted out. "I… You've been a friend to me, I don't think I've mentioned that."

Missa laughed, and in one motion she leant over the side of her bed and threw her boot at him. "You're the annoying little brother I've never had, salroka. Get out of here before I find more things to throw at you and you annoy me further."

He deflected the boot easily and grinned down at her. "Charming," he said, the burden lifting from his face then. "Fine, fine. Good night, Missa," and as he began to close the door she heard him say, "uh, this isn't what it looks like…" The door opened again and she saw Zevran look up the taller man, a wicked grin on his face.

"Oh? A Pity," replied the elf. He made a show of knocking on the door, and Missa chuckled.

"Close the door, Zev." As she heard Alistair's metal greaves thud down the hallway a little too quickly, she pulled the bedclothes open and gestured with her head at the empty space next to her.

Methodically Zevran stripped off his armour and crawled up the bed, an eyebrow raised. He grabbed her legs and pinned her to the bed quickly, a glint in his eye. "I'm here to collect my winnings," he said, leaning into her further.

Missa leant up and kissed him, draping her arms around his neck. "I rather thought you would."

"Hmm," was all he managed, and there was no more talking in the night.

* * *

Morrigan was not pleased with her. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, despite their friendship, and Missa knew exactly why.

She had made one request to the Arl, and she was relieved it given without question.

"Tell me something _Warden_," the witch said loudly, the pair of them watching as her request was handed over to them by the castle guards. Jowan stood before her, face pinched in misery still, awaiting his fate with a calm desperation.

"Will I be sent to my death to this Tower too?" The Witch continued. "I would like to know, lest I have to prepare for the many deaths of Templars."

Sten bound Jowan's wrists with thin rope, his violet eyes impossible to read. At the witch's words, Alistair twisted his head their way in a grin. Missa held a finger in silence at him, forcing him not to speak whatever retort he was thinking. "Enough, Morrigan," she said. "It has been decided," she replied brusquely.

The witch tightened her hold on her staff and walked ahead, but not before throwing her a murderous glare. "I am not something you pick up and discard once you have finished, like you have done with this man," she replied. "'Tis not my fate."

Arl Eamon made a point of seeing them all off, Bann Teagan by his side. His son shyly hid behind them both, and Missa bowed to them, face unreadable.

The group walked in silence; she heard Zevran and Leliana exchange a barbed, guarded conversation and heard her name mentioned, and Missa grimaced at the gossip. She ended up walking with Alistair, knowing her friend would be equally as quiet thanks to yesterday's revelations still in his thoughts.

Camp that night was a strange affair due to the very nature of their prisoner. Shale watched the mage while everyone did their duties, and when Missa finally finished her supper she wandered over to Jowan with a bowl of steaming stew in her hands, Dog at her heels, gesturing Shale to move away.

She sat next to Jowan heavily, tired suddenly. "If I unfasten your bindings so you can eat properly, are you going to run?" She asked, knife at the ready. She was well aware the bindings around his wrists, though constricting, could be easily removed with a bit of work from the mage. The rope was more of a symbol which Jowan seemed to wear willingly, and they all played along with the pretence.

Jowan raised his eyebrows. "I could try, but I won't get very far will I?"

"Good boy," she replied with a grin. She removed the thin rope from his wrists slowly, fumbling with the knots, knife back in her belt. "Food isn't anything special, just camp stew."

"I'm sure it's going to be manna from the Fade itself… All I got was water in prison. Sometimes I got the occasional bit of bread when the guards remembered I was there." He laughed once, eyes crinkling slightly. "I guess I pretty much _did_ live on dust from the Fade for awhile, heh."

Missa snorted and released his hands finally, revealing the red marks where the twine dug into his skin and criss-crossed the pink and white welts left there by self-inflicted scars. "Hardly call Alistair's cooking 'manna,' but whatever."

She politely looked away when he devoured his food; Missa understood starvation only too well. It took all her resolve to not hoard food from the others and filch from camp supplies, just "in case." Grimly she drank from her water flask and waited for him to finish, trying to persuade herself she was full and that she didn't need anymore food. The duster in her would always be hungry, but that didn't mean she would give into it.

"Thank you," said the mage quietly.

"For the meal?" Missa asked, taking back the now empty bowl and putting it by her feet.

Jowan itched at a patch of dry skin on his arm and half shrugged. "That, and making me feel human again. Just been awhile."

She laughed at that, then looked sideways at him. "You're saying that to a dwarf, you know."

Jowan cracked another smile. "It's a saying, really."

"I know," she replied wryly. "Dwarves say they '_feel like stone again_,' which makes no sense if you're a fucking duster, but there we go."

Jowan frowned at her words. "Duster?"

Missa laughed bitterly. "Ah… Don't worry about it. Just a… Name," she groped lamely, not having the energy to explain dwarven sociology so late at night. "What I am still, apparently."

"Ah. Well, I've not met many dwarves. Or even seen that many, to be honest. Apparently there were merchants that came to the Tower every so often to trade, but…" At the mention of the Tower, Jowan looked away from her and thought of the inevitable, his face back to the beaten contrition he usually wore.

The mage's discomfort was easy enough to read, however, and Missa removed her knife to whittle at a piece of greenwood to give her hands something to do. "What will they do with you?" She asked quietly. She had to make sure.

"Death by Templar sword, probably. Oh, they'll be a nice ceremony first. Always is in the Tower. A couple of Chants of Light, the Sister will be all, '_ooh! You must repent for your sins,_' and then…." He made a cutting gesture with his hand, then stilled it, shaking slightly. "I don't think they'll make me a Tranquil. Not now, anyway."

Missa thought of the Tranquilised mages she'd met on the surface, if only briefly. "I'd rather meet a sword," she said bluntly.

The mage laughed hollowly, then rubbed a hand across the straggly beard on his chin. "Death or Tranquil, what a choice." He stopped, and the pair of them watched the fire for a moment. "You know, my Mother said I'd end up this way. Mummy's little abomination, whose very existence would blot out the Maker's sight, or something. She'd be _so proud_. If she's still alive, of course. I mean, I wouldn't know."

Missa snorted, nearly snapping the twig she was currently shredding into neat little woodchips. "Sounds familiar," she said with an eyebrow raised. A shadow darted ahead, and she looked up in a snap as it melded back with the line of trees. Zevran patrolling, no doubt.

Jowan laughed bitterly this time, biting a thumbnail out of habit. "You're doing all right for yourself. Being a big brave Grey Warden, having the gentry seek you out.. I can think of worse fates." She allowed him his moment of acrimony, and quirked the corner of her mouth up into a faint sneer.

"I'm sure," she muttered. Missa thought if her Mam would even care what she was, and shoved her knife on the ground suddenly so it stuck pommel up, irritated suddenly.

"I'm sorry," Jowan said quickly. "I'm-"

"It's no matter," Missa said, with steel in her voice, and bound his wrists again. It was enough to silence him, and she stayed by him until it was the end of their patrol. Sten arrived with a nod at her, and she rose, grateful for the change. "I suggest you get some sleep," she said to Jowan then. Dog had settled by the fire and watched the mage expectantly, but in far more friendlier fashion then the glare the Qunari was currently fixing the apostate.

Zevran emerged from the shadows and walked over to her, face unreadable. "Warden," he said, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm sorry there's no tent for you, but… " She gave a half shrug to Jowan, then left him be. It was easier to keep an eye out on the mage in the open, even if Missa doubted he would even do anything.

Zevran walked with her in silence until they reached _their_ sleeping space, and with a courtly bow he held back the entrance so she could crawl in first. She rolled her eyes and did so, well aware his eyes were lingering on her hind quarters.

Practicalities had infringed into her relationships, and it rankled her. It made sense that Zevran would share a tent with her; of course it did, given their familiarity. It made patrol scheduling easier, and was one less space to put up. But still, Missa did not know how to react.

A hand was placed on her waist as she started to strip and she grabbed his wrist with a glare. She was irrationally angry still, and it irritated her how quick she was to rise to her own bait.

Zevran, however, was having none of it. Slowly he inched forward until their lips touched, shuffling his knees to hers. The glare was still there, but it was heated; he pulled the back of her head and to her annoyance she yielded, mouth parting to make way for his tongue and lips, to just melting into him. She let go of his wrist finally and pulled him closer, and with his now free hand he unlaced her breeches. Their coupling was the usual violent and mutually vigorous explosion of heat she'd come to expect, and she rolled off him with a sigh after, wondering if they were too loud again.

It seemed strange that something so intimate could make her recoil, in view of what they had _just_ done. She always found the trailing gestures and touches after sex tickling and annoying; Missa liked to keep a distance, waiting instead for her body to calm down or sleep to find her.

Even if her experiences with past lovers had meant she was social enough to talk after, she would not stumble over what to say like she was now. Because there was always the option of escaping after, clothes in hand; if it was a rough-necked thug she would be working with later on in the Carta, Missa could brush them off easily and dismiss it as a one night thing. Her usual flavour of sexual politics did not work on the surface at _all_.

While she did take pleasures when they came as any good duster would, what she was doing with Zevran was new and unnerving. There was no escape, not only from the gossip of their band, but from each other. Missa thought that the novelty of it would wear out soon -it always did, for her. She would make sure they would part amicably, but for now all it took was one look, one touch, and they would end up away from the others, trying to be discreet. In the middle of trying to stop a Blight, and she was still acting like a lust-starved thug with her brains in her knickers, despite the futility of it all.

Missa laid her hands on her naked stomach and looked sideways at Zevran, trying to think of things to say that didn't seem hollow or trite. He rolled over to his side, blonde hair messy, and she smiled despite herself. He returned it with a knowing grin of his own, leaning his head on one hand. "You look like you know something I don't," she said wryly.

Zevran chuckled at that and started to undo the braids in his hair. "Perhaps I do, my little lover."

_Lover. _The word was intimate, like a pet name, and it rolled over skin in waves. She turned over to face him, curious. "See, now you got my attention. Also, I may be little but I can still put you over my knee and snap you. Just _sayin_.'"

He made to say something, then cursed and slapped his arm suddenly. The midges seemed to be everywhere despite the cooling nights, and found Antivan elf flesh especially tasty. Zevran flicked the dead bug away from him and raised an eyebrow at her. "Artfully assassinated... Quick and clean."

She chuckled and found herself putting a hand to his cheek, pushing fine blonde hair over his ear. "You would not last a week with the Dalish," and found herself kissing him. He responded lazily then dragged her to his bed roll, finally closing the gap between them.

"My Mother was Dalish; it's in the blood," he murmured against her ear, stroking her back quietly.

"I know," she said, allowing herself to be held without too much protest. A hand wandered down the lines of her curves, and it amused her that her hips shadowed his, sticking out over the lines of his body.

"Or so I was told, of course. But I prefer it, much more _romantic_, no?" Missa remembered then giving him the Dalish gloves she had lying around in her bags from her time with one of the clans; his genuinely pleased reaction shocked her. Unwittingly he had revealed another inch behind the mask, and she wondered if hers was starting to slip too.

"How long were you in the whorehouse for?" She felt his hands stop briefly in their aimless exploration.

"I was sold when I was seven."

Missa did not want to think of whorehouses that sold children; Dust Town paid for their branded kids to disappear, mostly. Of course, she knew of things that went on in the shadows of the brothels that even her Mother had kept her away from; Beraht dealt with a surfacer once who had a taste for casteless children, and it made her skin crawl thinking about it again. Knowing that men like that existed in the world was enough for her to realise that some things need protecting, and that she should at least try.

"You were lucky to be sold," she said quietly. She felt him exhale in a breath then lean away from her. Missa looked up at his quizzical face, watching as he was ready to pass off a joke, to deflect the barb when it came. "I… poor choice of words, but, I mean. What do you think your fate would've been if you stayed?"

"Ah, yes. From one cage to another, I suppose. Albeit gilded." Missa understood another inch of him then, and his need for freedom. He was using her as a way out of his old life, she already knew that; the reasons why, however, were slow in their revealing.

Hope, she supposed, thinking of his Mother. She became a symbol of his expectation, much like Alistair and Leliana and their ideals about family. But unlike the pair of them, he was not so foolish to realise the truth was _far _from reality, and for that she respected him immensely. "You know, my Mother wanted me to be a whore," she said into his neck, thinking of her own warped ideals.

He pulled back slightly to look at her again. "Oh?" She flickered her eyes up at him once then went back to running a finger along his collarbone.

"In Dust Town your worth is measured by what's between your legs, you see. If you're female, I mean. It's your only way out. And…" Missa gave a little shrug, trailing off. She heard Beraht's voice in her head and bit back her revulsion, annoyed at her reaction.

_As if I could find anyone desperate enough for you._

"You decided it wasn't your vocation in life?" He replied quietly, running a thumb down her spine.

"Couldn't afford it," she replied bluntly. "Noble Hunting is expensive, and we could only afford one licence. And… I was a better common thug then I was a common whore," she stopped and gave a humourless smile, still not looking at him. "You get more money, for one, duster whores don't get much. And I'm too selfish in bed to make a good prostitute."

He pulled her closer and she heard him chuckle. Zevran knew it was her turn for deflection if her awkward attempt at humour was to go by, and did not push further. "And there is nothing wrong in that."

There was no more talking. His strokes were rhythmic and lulled her, and Missa found herself drifting off into sleep, her face pressed into the crook of his shoulder. She did not flinch away when he gently kissed her temple and pulled his blankets around them, intimate like lovers again.

* * *

It was strange, having her morning routine watched. The way she put her boots out, the way she got her bag ready, right down to how she rolled up her bedroll... All of changed, because she was sharing a sleeping space with someone.

Subconsciously the pair of them were developing a morning routine that Leliana was finding endlessly amusing to watch, passing rope and pegs to be packed away, almost like a dance as they dismantled their tent.

Missa took one look at the flinching Jowan, and frowned. She nodded to Sten to help the others with moving, and the mage barely noticed her arrival. "Good morning, Jowan." She handed him some dried oatcakes, and waited until he ate them before she spoke again. "We're moving out soon."

He wiped his mouth of crumbs and fixed her a look. "May I ask a favour?" He said quietly.

"All right."

"I… There are people I want to know are okay. There was a girl… Lily, her name. I loved her. She was a Chantry Intiate at the Tower, and…Could you tell her that I loved her? Oh Maker, I don't even know if she's still there."

Missa nodded once. "I'll see what I can do."

"I had friends, too… Neria and Daylen. They- well, I wasn't so much of a good friend to them, considering we got caught. They helped me escape, you see. I hope they're alive still." Jowan went silent, and politely she ignored the redness around his eyes. "I've done so much wrong," the mage said quietly.

Their party was still solemn, and Morrigan still refused to look at her. Alistair estimated they would reach Lake Calenhad docks by the evening, and she knew she had to make her mind up fast. It was midday when she stopped, Morrigan's deathly glares finally getting to her.

Without saying a word she walked up to Jowan with her dagger out. The look on her face must've been stony enough to scare, as he backed away from her slightly, eyes fearful at what she would do.

She brought her daggers to his arms and cut the bindings in silence. "I don't understand," Jowan said, rubbing his wrists then. It wasn't sudden for her, considering her thoughts all morning, but it was to the rest.

"_Pashaara_," Sten rumbled. "You will regret that, Warden. He should be leashed."

"Go," Missa said roughly. "Just go. I don't want to see you again for a very long while. If I hear anything of you, I will kill you before the Templars even reach you. I'll say we killed you while you tried to escape, so I better not hear anything from you. _Do you understand_?"

"Are you serious?" Alistair said, tone loud and livid. Missa flicked him a brief, angry look. "You're letting him go? He's an apostate!"

Morrigan chuckled and folded her arms. "As I'm I, by your precious Chantry standards." Missa flicked her eyes once her way. The look of triumph the witch had made her look away guiltily, jaw tightening suddenly at her decision.

"I'm a maleficar, if you want to be technical," the apostate in question said in a mumble.

"He poisoned the Arl!" Alistair pointed at the mage then. Jowan stood between the pair of them, unsure whether to flee or stay, a beaten dog still.

"We can argue until the sun sets the reasons behind that, surely?" Missa laughed hollowly and shook her head. "Consider everyone here, Alistair. And _why _they are here."

To his credit, he did. Alistair swept a gaze from Sten to Zevran, then to her again. "This is different."

"I don't think so," she replied bitterly. "Tell me something, do you trust me? Do you believe I am doing everything in my power to make sure this Blight ends? That I am doing my duty?"

"Of course," he said, straight away. "Of course I do. It's just he's _nearly_ a murderer!"

Her bitter laughter interrupted him from saying something else, and Missa walked up to her friend to push her point home. "Salroka, we're all on our second chances here. Do you see? How can I just stand by and piss over someone's chance of redemption, when one was given to me so readily? By _Duncan_, of all people."

Alistair frowned, then tightened his fists into balls. "I don't see how this has anything to do with him."

"Do you know how much a merchant's life costs in Orzammar?"

"Not enough, I imagine," said Zevran. She nodded once to him, her jaw tight with anger.

"I do, Alistair. I killed for money, and because I was told to. There is blood on my hands because my boss at the time asked me to do it. I can stand here and say that I had no choice, that it was for my survival, but… I've murdered for a handful of silver. And I was recruited as a Grey Warden, still. Do you get it?" Missa thought of her last day in Orzammar briefly, but not before pushing it down to a place where she could deal with it later.

Alistair cleared his throat and stood straighter, still frowning. Missa wondered if he already knew that about her, and chose to ignore it. "That maybe so, but he's a maleficar. That's… A very bad thing!"

She laughed briefly and shrugged. "You're saying that to a dwarf, do you realise that? I can't tell the difference to the kind of magics you all gabble on about. It's all… Wave your fingers, and woosh! Magic happens."

"There's a little more to it then that," mumbled Jowan. She fixed him a glare and he meekly returned to staring at the floor.

"The point is, I could no more point out a Blood Mage from another. It's like asking me to, uh…" And at that she gestured irritably. "Oh, I don't know. Recognize a crocus from a daffodil, or something," she finished, groping for a simile.

"And for that reason I'm telling you… Blood Magic is wrong. Leads to Exalted Marches. And Andraste said it was bad." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose then, aware he was failing in arguing his point. He hated arguing with Missa, he never got far.

Missa pursed her lips, genuinely curious at his statement. "Why?"

Leliana looked between Alistair and Missa, a tentative look on her face. "Andraste Herself states that '_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world, or beyond,'" _the bard quoted. "It is widely accepted that She is describing Blood Magic, no? What Jowan admits to being freely."

Missa resisted rolling her eyes at yet more Chantry droning and shrugged. "Right. But you didn't answer my question."

Alistair made an irritated gesture at her. "Because Blood Magic means you can control directly another life, Missa. That's… Wrong. You have complete control of their actions, they can do nothing. Surely you can see that it's inherently a _bad_ thing?"

Missa looked at Jowan. She trusted her instincts that the mage genuinely wanted to pay penance for his crimes, but had to wonder if her little speech about second chances rang true with everyone.

"Careful Warden," Morrigan said then, voice teasing, "the _noble_ Templar may show his mighty sword to all the naughty little apostates and try to put us in place. Oh _do_ try, Alistair. I'm sure we could all use a laughable diversion, yes?"

"Do me a favour, would you? Crawl back to your swamp and die, witch. Because that would be really great right now," Alistair spat back, cheeks flushed in anger.

The look of sheer loathing shot Morrigan's way was strong enough for Missa to step in the middle of the pair, hands out in warning. "Enough, the pair of you. I've made my decision." She looked at them both, flitting a look between stony, hard faces, waiting for the heat to die down between them. Alistair walked away first, not even bothering to give Missa a backwards glance.

Jowan was still standing there, watching them. Silence filled the clearing, and Shale finally stomped over, flinty eyes curious. "Is it moving yet? Or are we waiting for moss to grow on my back?"

Missa walked over to Jowan and gave him a shove. "Get the fuck out of here. Before I change my mind." The momentum made him stagger back.

"But-"

"_Do you want to go back to the Tower_?" She yelled, finally annoyed enough to shout. Morrigan made a sound of irritation, and started to walk ahead on the path Alistair was leading.

"And let his guilt be heard from the four corners of the world," said the witch over her shoulder in a sarcastic tone, emulating Leliana's previously pious tones scornfully. "Pitiful how well these Circle magi are brainwashed."

Missa shoved him again, this time enough to push him over. "I said go." Jowan got up from the muddy floor, wiping his hands on his robe. With one final embarrassed look he took off, finally pressed into running.

"Thank you," she heard him shout. "I won't make you regret this!" Missa watched the mage until she could not see him anymore, staring into the quiet landscape at nothing in particular.

Sten glared down at her as he walked past, and she ignored it, Dog whining at her feet. Zevran waited until there was a distance between the group and them, leaning against the tree. "You got something to add?" She asked him, without looking up, knowing he was waiting.

When he didn't say anything, Missa finally flicked her gaze his way. The assassin looked at her curiously, then gestured for them to walk. "Shall we?" Was all he said.

They walked in silence, and she was grateful at least for that.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the lapse in update, but as you can see it's a long chapter. Reviews, story favourites and even passing comments really, really help in keeping me going, so thank you for all those that even just say they've read it.

Special shout out to Gilsa for making me explode in CAPSLOCK JOY with an awesome artwork of Missa being groped by Zevran. Seriously made my day!


	16. Of Personal Oubliettes

They walked in silence. Missa was following a path set by the group and not leading, face pinched and mulish. The lake was coming into view, the fading light dancing on the water, gentle waves lapping at muddy silt edging the path lazily.

Zevran walked in silence, occasionally throwing a stick for the dog, who had given up pestering Missa to play with him. After a few more hours of walking, she looked up from the ground and growled in irritation, finally having enough of her own self-induced brooding. "Tell me something, Zevran," she said roughly. "Anything, I don't care."

The silence was finally enough. "Oh?" He replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Tell me more about the Crows, what you did with them… Or Antiva. Somewhere far from here."

He laughed once, then fixed his gaze on the horizon. The Tower was just coming into partial view, obscured by the mists of Lake Calenhad. "What do you want to know? The good or the bad? Perhaps something _dirty_?"

It got a reaction out of her, and she snorted. "We back to dirty stories again?"

"If you need distracting…" Zevran leant down close enough for her to feel his breath hot on her face. She pushed him away then, irritated.

"Not now, lover boy."

He adjusted the tunic of his armour and shook out his shoulders. "Tease. Ah well," he sighed. "What shall I tell you about the Crows… The punishing training, perhaps? The _oubliette_? Waiting around for hours for a mark to show up?"

Missa chuckled, some of his words familiar to her duster ears. "That I do know about. There's only so much you can do sitting in one space, right? And the times they don't show up when you think they will, so you're there bored out of your skull trying to think of things to do." She thought briefly of her time in cramped doorways, rooftops and cubbyholes, trying not to laugh at Leske's stupid jokes if he was there and trying not to fall asleep if she was alone.

"Depends on the company, of course," he replied slyly.

"Yeah, well. Carta weren't exactly a company full of paragons of beauty, if you get what I mean." She kicked herself then, as she knew his next words would ooze compliments.

"If they are anything like you-"

"Zevran…" She warned. She was in no mood for flattery.

He held his hands up in protest, failing to act convincingly contrite. "So, a dashing tale, is it?"

Missa stopped and frowned, thinking about what he said earlier. "What's an ooblerret? Sounds… exotic. I could do with something far fetched right now."

The reaction he gave she did not expect. Zevran laughed freely, and when she looked up at him in question, briefly she saw a hint of something dark in his eyes. "For some, perhaps. Tell me, my Warden; what do you know of torture?"

She exhaled noisily. Of course it wouldn't have been anything _nice. _"Enough. Enough to know that some men will quite happily pay pretty young things to do all sorts to them, if that's what you're on about."

Missa thought about Lina, one of the girls she knew from her Carta life. The Noble Hunter had hinted at what she got up to in deshyr's bedrooms; Missa tried not to imagine what the petite blonde did in her pursuit to better herself, even it was the only way out of Dust Town for her.

Not for the first time she shoved down feelings of Orzammar in a smaller place where she could deal with them later; Rica is surviving still, Leske was alive, everything was _okay-_

"I have to get creative, do I?" Zevran interrupted her thoughts then, trying a new tact to dig her out of her mood. "I already know you can be imaginative with rope; it was, after all, how we met." She shot him a look in warning, but he merely pursed his lips. His gaze, however, were still hard.

She pinched her nose then waved at him. "Go on, sorry. Just been a… Interesting day, I suppose."

He thought for awhile before speaking, wondering how far he could push the misery. "Well. _Schadenfreude_ for you, my dear. It might be the only way to cheer you up."

"Excuse me?" She replied, confused. "More foreign words to tease the ignorant duster with, hmm?"

He chuckled quietly and draped an arm around her shoulder, a placating gesture she did not shrug off. "Ah, my little lover. Not at all. I will explain what an oubliette is, since you asked. If I may?" She nodded once, and he continued. "It can be something used to test your endurance, if you are fortunate. Mostly of course it's a place you're taken if certain …authorities want you to be forgotten. You're left there to die, usually."

Missa frowned, trying to imagine what he was going on about. She fumbled in an attempt to get her head around the description Zevran was putting in her head, and something clicked. "The Deep Roads," she said out loud, thinking of the Legion of the Dead.

"Ah, the legendary Deep Roads of your homeland. Filled with darkspawn and old cities full of treasure, yes? No, no. This is _much _different."

"Enlighten me then," she said dryly.

Zevran gestured as he talked, his free hand precise in movement. "It's usually underground, and there is no light at all. There's only one entrance at the top in the form of a pothole, and the unfortunate souls sent there are descended into this overwhelming darkness. You are left alone to own devices, locked in your own hell. It is impossible to escape from; if they bother to feed you, then you die of madness. If not, well… You are starved to death, deprived of all senses, covered only in your filth and misery."

Missa laughed without a trace of humour. "That _is _the Deep Roads," she reinforced, rubbing her nose briefly. She looked up at him again, the elf's face peculiarly thoughtful. "I'm a dwarf," she added, tone suddenly quiet. "And, uh… While I haven't ventured balls deep into the Roads itself…" She shrugged and looked into the distance. "Orzammar is pretty good at darkness."

"Perhaps," he replied quietly. He raised an eyebrow and smiled again, tawny eyes tired suddenly. "Ah, don't listen to me, my senorina _Brasca_. Here I am meant to distract you and fail at such a task. Come, let us talk of other matters; the good things in life, no? And of course the dirty…" He squeezed her shoulder once, and dropped his hand from her, a distance between them then. "Did I ever tell you about a dockside prostitute I knew by the name of Maratrice? She was famous for a pair of two large reasons, if you follow my meaning…"

Missa rolled her eyes and listened, finally giving into his distractions.

* * *

Morrigan was in a good mood. This usually meant that Alistair wouldn't be, and Missa approached the witch cautiously, suddenly inquisitive as to what happened while she and Zevran trailed behind them all, distant and aloof.

The group hovered outside a crumbling inn, trying to shelter from the cold wind blowing off the lake. Alistair glared at her once and looked away, jaw tight in anger still. Their friendship worked in a way that they would usually avoid each other after a fight. Someone would forget why they were mad in the first place and the cold would thaw, back to normal so suddenly. A joke would be cracked and everything would be put back where it was, both relieved that the other had given in first.

"Look at it," Morrigan said, disgusted. Missa followed her gaze to the Tower, vaguely visible still despite the mist.

"A watery cage," she replied, glancing at the dark lake surrounding it warily. How were they meant to cross?

"Exactly. A giant, phallic prison. The Chantry has a sick sense of humour, 'tis true."

Missa rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Great. We're visiting a giant penis. Thanks for that image, Morrigan."

The witch chuckled slightly, folding her arms against the chill. Missa knew she wanted to say something and waited, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the others. "I have a thought," Morrigan murmured, eyes on the Tower still.

She resisted replying with a sigh, looking at the water still. "Go on," she prompted.

"This Tower…It holds a grimoire."

"IS that a kind of… book?" Missa asked, trying to grope for the meaning of the word.

"A… book of spells, if you will. It belonged to my Mother. You could say it is an opportunity for us."

"Oh?" She replied bluntly, looking at the witch finally, cautiously suspicious.

Morrigan glanced at her, frowning. "She was a sorceress of legend, was she not? Who knows what secrets it could keep. It was taken from her by a Templar, no doubt kept under lock and key." The witch gestured in irritation then, like she was swatting a fly away. "None of the mages would even know how to even get past the seals of Mother's magic to even open it. There's no harm in us looking for such a thing, is there?"

Missa laughed at her words. "Oh, there's no _us_, Morrigan. You're staying here; I'm not taking an apostate to the Tower. I've already got to explain about Jowan, it's going to look just brilliant if you're there too."

The Witch turned around, fire in her eyes. Missa braced herself for the anger, but it did not come. Morrigan nodded once, then drew her cloak closer around her, hiding her features. "I suppose," was the answer. "Stay I will."

Missa raised her eyebrows quietly then nodded once, unsure how to react. "I'll try to look. Not promising anything," she said softly, wondering why she trusted this woman when so few did.

She turned to face the others then, eyebrows raised. "Right," she said loudly. "Let's work out how to reach the giant penis in the lake and get going, shall we?"

Zevran laughed loudly, and even Alistair somehow managed to crack a grin.

* * *

She awoke to the smell of cooking. Not just any scent, but the smell of toasted lye bread and mushrooms. It was a distinct, fragrant childhood memory that she could only remember when her Mother had scant moments of sobriety.

A hand caressed her waist, a kiss trailing a line down her neck. Missa turned over to see a face obscured by blonde hair and the covers of the bed, and tentatively she reached out. "Lina?" She asked hesitantly.

A smile from feminine lips and the world appeared to shift, a tanned hand now pushing back strands of hair from an angled, tattooed cheek. Tawny eyes looked up at her wickedly, feminine features seemingly melting away like wax.

Missa shook her head, blinking suddenly. Was it always Zevran, or was her mind playing tricks on her? "Not yet, _Signorina Brasca_," he said, placing a kiss on her throat. She leant back in a sigh, so very warm and comfy. "Your Mother can wait."

"My Mother?" Her voice hitched slightly, then she sat up in the bed. Missa looked across the room, her own reflection catching her eye in the polished copper of the mirror. Something was different about her face, and she touched her cheek distantly, wondering where her mark went.

"Unless that woman in the kitchen is somehow a figment of your imagination." She pulled away from him, confused. She refused to look at her lover and instead put on clothes at the end of the bed, trying to give into the temptation of slinking back under the covers.

"Mam?" She said hesitantly, standing in the doorway as small as a child. Missa stepped into the kitchen in their Dust Town home, the place for once clean and orderly. The table was scrubbed, the floor was swept and her Mother was sober, an apron tied around her waist.

"You don't have to get up just yet," Kalah said with a smile. "You can go back to bed with that elf of yours, I'll call you both when food's ready."

She frowned. "He's not my anything, Mam."

Kalah snorted and stirred a pot. "Your fancy boy, then. Honestly, the neighbours are queuing up to gawp, no one's seen an elf around here before."

Missa frowned still, trying to work things out. "But…"

Her Mother wiped her hands and handed her the metal ladle, gesturing her to stir the pot. "Make sure it doesn't burn." Kalah put a hand to Missa's cheek. "My pretty pebble… Look at you, so grown up. You showed the Surfacers what a duster can do. We're going to be nobles, thanks to you. No more Dust Town, all because you squished a giant darkspawn like a cave tick." The gesture shocked her so much she dropped the ladle, hands shaking.

"Mammy?" Missa backed away, expecting a slap, steeling herself for when it came. Kalah smiled and picked up the spoon, setting it on the side.

"Never mind. Leske will be joining us soon. Rica is out, shopping. All that money you gave her, how could she not? I don't see why, I mean… you're going to up and leave us again with that Duncan. To Wise- hept? I don't know, some surface place far away from your Mother."

Missa gripped a hand over her mouth, hurt etched her face. "This isn't- what…" Suddenly, she needed air, and stumbled outside the house. She looked up, and the roof of Dust Town was covered in stars, sparkling as brightly as they did on the surface. "It's not real," she said out loud. And then she remembered.

* * *

She sat huddled on a apparently floating island, watching nothingness through the beady eyes of a rat. There was a city she would never reach on the horizon. This was the Fade? This is where surfacers when to dream? It unnerved her; there was nothing solid to trust.

Even in her dreams she remained fighting, the ghost of pain and hurt lingering despite the fact she was sleeping. Darkspawn, monsters, spirits; they all died by her hands, and she wondered where their bodies went, trying to hold onto her sanity in a land full of other people's nightmares.

Alistair was dreaming of the family he never knew. Was it Alistair, or a delusion of hers sent by the Fade? She didn't know anymore, but Missa knew she had to play a role to survive here, or she would break and never be able to leave. "Alistair," she said quietly, reminded then of the templar they had come across earlier in the Tower; he too wanted to stay in the counterfeit life a demon had created for him, and Missa left the man to his induced ideas.

Though Alistair's demon was obvious, she was somehow angry at her friend's reaction. She thought he had dealt with it, that he realised… No matter, she killed it for him again, just like she did on the surface. And as his "sister" lay dead on the floor, turning slowly to dust, Alistair remembered. "Thank you," he said sadly, eyes downcast.

Missa shook her heard at him. "Salroka, why do you keep on doing this to yourself?" And then she realised, she was a fine one to talk. Her Mother made her flatbread and Dust Town was full of stars, what place did she have to judge him?

Alistair rubbed a hand sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I don't know, I just…" And he faded away, disappearing from view.

* * *

Sten watched her approach, and bowed his head to avoid her gaze. He knew she was there, unlike Alistair. "Sten, come on. You can go now," she said.

He ignored her, and watched the other Qunari instead. They were laughing, faces joyful: it was Leske and Tobaws, sharing jokes about Jarvia's arse; it was Leliana and Zevran teasing Alistair about his cooking. She understood, but her patience was wearing thin.

"This is all fake," she continued, suddenly tired. Could she be tired in a dream? If she laid her head down to sleep, would she wake up elsewhere?

"I know," was all he managed.

So she ordered him to leave, and he did. It was a language he understood, and yet she could not.

* * *

She left Wynne's dream blankly, unaffected by the stranger's nightmare; she had seen enough dead bodies to last her a while, and could not allow herself an indulgent moment to think about that.

Wynne had joined her in their attempts at taking back the Tower, and Missa immediately respected her power as soon as the woman started casting. She was a fine mage, and could heal wounds almost immediately as they formed; it was good to have at least one rational member of the Tower on their side, considering what was behind this.

She shoved down the stab of regret she felt about freeing a maleficar; would Jowan create abominations like the ones she had fought? Was Alistair right in his grandstanding about Blood Magic?

She had to fix things first; afterwards maybe she'd allow herself a moment, a place where she could lock herself away and break down quietly by herself. For now though, there were things to do. If she had to do them in the shape of whatever this place needed her to be, then so be it.

Missa heard Zevran rather then see him first, ears twitching at the sounds of misery as she stumbled into his dream. He was being tortured, and Missa found herself reacting violently, shifting to bring her daggers up to undo rope and bindings.

The demons reacted to her presence and she finished them, killing memories once more. "Zevran." The elf slumped on the floor. This was Crow training? As he tried so hard to deflect her, she decided to play along, heart too hard for sympathy. "Would you like to know what my dream was about?" She asked, leaning into him.

"Was it naughty?" She felt his shaky breath on her lips, not quite kissing her.

"Of course. You were in it," and at that he faded like the rest, leaving her nothing but dust.

* * *

From a waking dream to reality, and for once Missa welcomed the harsh Ferelden weather. The rain lashed them unmercifully as they left the Tower; everyone huddled in the boat with cloaks pulled tightly around their bodies, trying to hide from the elements.

Wynne sighed and finally gave up, holding a hand up. A thin sheet of light covered the boat above and the ferryman muttered under his breath, making the symbol of Andraste on his chest briefly as they had a brief respite from the downpour.

"Warden," Sten said to her right, a voice above her head. Missa was huddled as far as she could into the Qunari, and was currently using him as a windbreak.

He was the only one who had said something since they left the Enchanters and Knight Commander Gregoir to pick up the pieces of their fractured Tower. Her seething resentment of the Chantry was the main reason they left in rocky conditions to get back to the mainland, refusing to even linger.

Not that the others minded, of course. Everyone had a reason to leave the place promptly, as she discovered in the Fade.

Missa turned slightly so she could hear him, refusing to look up so she would not be splattered by fat rain drops. "Sten?" She said finally, not quite keeping the irritation from her voice.

"I have questions."

Missa raised her eyebrows, tightening the grip of her cloak suddenly. "You pick your moments." Missa winced as icy rain blew into her face, and she shuffled closer to the Qunari. "What do you want to know?" She replied, gritting her teeth against the cold.

"I should clarify," the Sten continued. "I have two questions. One depends on the answer of the other."

She sighed and ignored Alistair's snigger behind her. "Ask your questions, then," she said bluntly. "Before I change my mind."

"You left the templar with the demon, even though he was under its thrall. Why?"

The wind rocked the boat and she lurched suddenly, heart leaping at the thought of sinking in the deep waters of the lake. She gripped a tight fist to Sten's arm, the leather of her gauntlets squeaking in protest at the hold she had on him. Embarrassedly she pulled away, aware she was as frightened as a gormless duster at the thought of drowning.

When everything settled, she worked out what he meant. The Desire Demon who had the templar under her control from the Tower, giving him a life he always wanted. Missa had walked away, too disgusted to deal with it. "Because why should I take away something he wanted? That demon gave him his hopes and dreams in one neat little package, and he was happy. Good enough for you?"

She shielded her eyes to look up at him, trying to keep the wet from her face. When be looked down impassively at her, she tried again. Missa thought of what the Sloth demon gave her in the Fade, and shuddered. "Either way not my problem. The templars and mages can deal with it now," she continued, voice bitter and hard.

Wynne spoke up in front, trying not to disturb the ferryman in her movements. "He will most likely be dead, Warden. The templars will see to that."

"We did right, though. Leaving him, I mean," Alistair said quietly. "I suppose… Even though it was creepy as anything, the man got… Something, in the end. Even if it was only in his head." Missa knew then he was thinking about his own luck at escaping his templar fate, and she looked at him briefly, despite her gaze obscured by her cloak.

"Rather them then me, then, in dealing with it. I had other priorities at the time." She replied, twisting back in her seat. Missa saw the elder mage glance over her shoulder at her; she could see the disapproval there, albeit briefly, and tightened her jaw in anger at the reaction. "That it, Sten?" She asked.

"No. Why did you not listen to the templars? Their answer to the problem would've been more beneficial to your cause," The Qunari replied.

"To whom?" Zevran said, finally speaking up. "It would've been a slaughter; no more, no less. No art or finesse to it, just… Mindless."

Alistair spoke up again. "Yeah, don't make a big thing of this, but I agree with him. The assassin has a point. And I feel a little wrong in saying that."

"You did a good thing, Warden. Lives were spared because of your actions," Wynne offered.

Missa shrugged. "What do you mean, Zevran?" She was curious, and knew he wanted to say more. She turned to face him briefly, irritated at the weather again.

The elf shrugged in his cloak. "The templars guard their mages because they assume the worse will happen, yes? Where is the logic in that? If we had agreed with this Annulment they offered, then it would've been a senseless massacre, just because those mages may or may not be capable of what the Chantry fears."

"A mage is a sword without a sheath," was the only thing the Qunari offered to Zevran's words. "And they must be blunted."

Missa actually laughed. "I disagree in part, Sten. One mage is worth ten templars and is a fine enough sword. But… Zevran has a point. It would've been a slaughter, because good little Andrastian mages are taught not to fight back, right? No, this way they get to use their magic for a good cause. And where is the harm in that?"

"We are _weapons_ to you, Warden?" Wynne asked. Missa could see the woman look over her shoulder again, and this time Missa looked her right in the eye.

"To be honest? Against the darkspawn, yeah. You are. Now I've only seen a part of what magic can do, and your Circle, away from the templars for once? It's capable of great things, despite just what happened. Where is the harm in that?"

Sten merely grunted and folded his arms. She knew enough of the man to know he had no more to say on the matter, and shrugged.

"There's your answers, Sten," she offered, grateful the group slipped back into silence, the elements battering them and the boat once more.

* * *

Despite the awkward, morality-laden conversation she had on the rocky boat journey back to the mainland, Sten still spoke to her. He sought Missa out after they set up camp half a day's walk from the docks, finally meeting up with the others.

The Qunari had approached her and told her the real reason he was stuck in a cage in Lothering. She guessed his sudden confession was prompted by the returning sight of his "brothers" from his Fade nightmare, these members of the Beresad he missed. So she told him she would help find his soul, when he explained about his Asala.

If Missa was honest, her act of help was more fuelled by her macabre humour at the coincidence of where they were. Her own twisted memories of the caged Sten she met in Lothering months ago impelled her to help him, in the end, reminding herself that both of them were different people since then.

Another day passed and they found the spot where the Qunari had massacred the family, and the trail led them -to all places- Orzammar. Tightening her jaw she realised she had no choice now; she had to go home.

During all this Missa had politely kept her distance from Zevran, Alistair and Wynne who were with her at the Tower, waiting to see if they could banish their own demons away. As her patrol of the camp ended, however, she knew she had confront one before they drifted apart, mostly due to her own annoyance at duplicity and masks.

He was already in his bedroll when she crawled into their tent, hers still neatly bundled to the side. It was their first time alone together in awhile, and Missa knew he wasn't sleeping.

In some ways she was glad for the silence. She was never any good at comfort or talking things through, and her awkward attempts at sympathy were often misinterpreted. While she could be a listener and offer blunt advice, both were things she was incapable of giving right now; her mind was distracted by her _own _demons left by the Fade and the reality of her leadership issues.

But still, there was a stab of pity in her chest for him, and Missa knew that is she showed an inch of sympathy to Zevran, his tightly bound facade would show again and that would be that. She was too tired and tattered for games, especially from someone she was sleeping with, and if she was completely honest, was fond of.

So she decided to offer comfort in the only way she knew how. She stripped off her leathers neatly and piled it on top of her backpack, finally crawling into her blankets. "Zevran," she said quietly. She heard him in exhale in the darkness of their tent, then shift slightly.

Tentatively she reached out to him. Missa opening the bedroll, hoping he could see her gesture in the dark, trying to ignore the coldness dimpling her naked body suddenly. As a warm hand trailed a line downwards from her throat, he cupped warm, inviting flesh. She shivered, unsure if it was from his touch or the wintry weather battering their tent outside.

It was their language, their common ground they could speak on. Everyday was a threat of something to the pair of them, both knowing that pleasures should be taken when they came. Because it was something good and right, even it was short-lived; it could be sacred, if they wished it to be. Perhaps it was, in their own way, a holy communion for the wicked as a reminder that life was there to be lived.

Missa did not make a sound and for once she yielded, allowing him to possess and take control, all give and no take. Limbs entwined around his, open and pliant, mouth soft and lingering on his warm skin. She hoped it was enough, as it was all she knew; her flesh was all she could offer.

Everything else was too precious and raw to give up, because if she started it would undo her, and she had to remain armoured. Now was not the time for feelings and declarations, idealistic nonsense that had no place in her life- especially considering her position.

Zevran, however, was having none of her compliant nature, and refused to meet the rhythm she was setting. He pinned her hands above her head and finally she could make out his features in the shadows, his gaze seeking hers in a challenge. He entered her roughly and she finally cried out, the suddenness shocking her into sound. His thrusts were rough and quick and she responded just as violently, tenderness gone. Her sharp nails found places to grip and mark him; it was a more familiar coupling they shared now, a tumble they both knew well.

Her body would be blemished by him again, fingers and teeth leaving lingering bruises and marks. The result was like marks on a map where he'd been, and she winced slightly as he pulled out, despite his sudden gentleness. Missa could feel him pant against her chest, forehead damp with his sweat, not speaking still. She was unsure what more she could offer, and waited for her own heartbeat to calm down.

Slowly she collapsed away from their embrace, equally exhausted. When Zevran jerked away from the gentle, trailing touch she left on his face, she shifted back to her own bed roll to sleep. There was a space between them once more, and the fact it unsettled her upset her more then she thought.

* * *

Missa was not sure how long she slept, but it was still dark when she jerked herself awake. She was dreaming of darkspawn again, this time in a place dark and unforgiving. It was all lipless teeth grinning and skin peeling from rotting faces, their cries jubilant and cloying. Her ears were deafened still by the roar of the Arch Demon, even if it was only from her mind.

The images were stark and vivid enough for her not to slip back into her slumber. Zevran was huddled underneath his own blankets, his back to her; she rose quietly, trying to dress as noiselessly as she could, wincing slightly at the lingering bruises left on her ribs.

The clouds had cleared partially and she could just make out the moon, but the stars were still obscured, but she needed to clear her mind before she could attempt sleep. She leant against a tree at the edge of their camp, nodding briefly to Wynne of all people still being up, reading by the light of the fire.

"Warden," she heard behind her. She knew it was Morrigan, but did not turn to face her friend.

"Morrigan," Missa replied. "Cannot sleep either, I see." When there was silence, she finally looked at the witch. "Is there a problem?" She asked politely.

"You… could say that. Mother's grimoire finally revealed its secrets to me." Missa was impressed; it had only been three days since she had the book, and Morrigan had already cracked the thing.

When the witch revealed spoke of the book's spells, some of the descriptions of magic were both baffling and foreign to her dwarven senses. When Morrigan spoke that the only way to make sure _they_ were safe was to kill Flemeth, she laughed loud and freely. "Right," Missa said, rubbing her nose then. "You want me to kill your Mother."

Finally Morrigan faced her, and even in the darkness she could see the shocked anger on the witch's face. "Did you not hear what I said? I know you are ignorant of magic, but she will kill me, if I-" She stopped, looking over Missa's shoulder. When Missa followed her gaze to see Zevran emerge from the tent, Morrigan disappeared, melding back into the edge of the forest once more.

Zevran walked up to her, a blanket draped over his naked chest, breeches and boots barely done up. She held up a finger to her lips and walked away from where they were, stopping until she was sure the camp was at a distance. Missa looked up to the sky instinctively, then cursed herself for remembering there was nothing there that night. He saw what she was looking at and put his hands on her shoulders; cautiously she waited, not quite leaning into him, unsure what it meant.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, looking up with her. "I used to be afraid of the dark; sad the stars are not out, no? They can be a comfort, if you wish them to be," he said casually.

It was such a sudden, clunking statement lost in pleasantries that Missa could not ignore it. "Oh?" She replied, shifting so she could watch his face looking up at the cloudy night sky; he looked tired, and she leant in closer. "As a child you were afraid? The darkness thing, I mean."

"Perhaps. No, my fear of it came much later." His voice was sharp, final. She thought of his nightmare she walked around in and his talk of torture and oubliettes earlier on in the week, and something clicked into place.

"You're not scared anymore?"

The hands on her shoulders moved slightly, and Zevran kissed the forming bruise he left there earlier. "Of course not, I'd make a terrible assassin if I was, no? I taught myself to fight it."

She grinned in the dark, looking him right in the eye then. "Of course you would."

"I trained myself, you see." He smiled, awkward at his own admission; this was as close to an explanation as she was going to get for what happened in the Fade, guarding himself far more effectively then Sten had. "I used to force myself into cupboards and all sorts of dark crevices to get over it, but that is another story," and he laughed at his own confession.

"You survived," was all she offered, ignoring his deflecting humour. He nodded once, his unbound hair moving slightly as the wind picked up around them. "That's all you can do, or you die."

_Do or die, duster. It's the only way._

"I know how to live," he replied, a whisper in her ear.

Missa had a thought then, and smiled at a naïve memory long since gone, thinking of Dust Town. "I used to be frightened of the sky when I was a kid. Well, the thought of it anyway. My sister used to tease me that clouds would come in and make us float up to the roof of Orzammar, and we would never be able to get down."

"You dwarves are a peculiar people, you know this?"

She chuckled quietly. "From your position, perhaps."

Finally she wrapped an arm around him, and he put the blanket around them both. "Hmm. I can think of several positions, my dear. Ah hah…" She could see his eyes glint even in the dark, suddenly remembering something. "Were you not having a deliciously dirty dream about me in the Fade? I want details. I do hope you were left satisfied, my dear."

Missa carefully stood on her tiptoes and nipped at a cold ear, delighting in the gasp he yielded. "Let's just say you have a lot of making up to do."

So he did, in the cold of their tent. For a few moments more their realities were forgotten about once more; it was their version of survival and comfort, and for that Missa was glad.

* * *

The weather was getting colder and she hated it, and for once she regretted stalling their trip to Orzammar due to her overwhelming desperation to feel heated stone and the backdraft of lava again. Even in Dust Town she could feel warm to the bone whatever the time of the year, despite the fact they ran out of money for lavastones often.

Alistair walked with her, frowning. They were not going straight to her homeland after all, and be taken a very major detour instead. "Tell me again," he said, gesturing vaguely in the air, "why we are doing this."

So she did, repeating the white lie she spoon-fed him earlier on in the day. "Because Flemeth has nasty plans and we should act before she succeeds, simple really. Plus, I rather like Morrigan; I don't really want her to die. Do you?" She said, steel in her voice.

He laughed and refused to swallow what she gave him. "I could answer that, but…" Missa glared at him, and made a placating gesture with his hands. "Okay, okay. Just… You know. Trusting Morrigan on this makes total sense, right? I mean, I know _you know _what I think of her, but come on. Seriously?"

It was then she decided to gamble on something. "Ask her yourself. Better yet, ask Wynne; she's a mage, after all," she bluffed, hoping he wouldn't call her on it. "Are we done? Because there's nothing more to talk on the matter."

Darkspawn clusters were more frequent on their travels now, and their band dealt with them efficiently. They were getting tougher to wipe out, however, and the corruption left by the taint was evident in the poisoned ground and dying landscape, trees and plants black and shrivelled.

Flemeth's hut looked shabbier and in more disrepair when she saw it last, finally reaching the heart of the swamp where it stood. Her eyes settled in drinking in the scene before she looked Flemeth in the eye. "Do you dance to my lovely Morrigan's tune, Warden? Why else would you be here?"

"Not one for dancing," Missa said bluntly. She looked up into yellow eyes, trying to gauge the woman. Last time she was here Missa knew she was being manipulated, but was too distracted by Ostagar to work out the how and the why.

The older witch laughed, unreadable still. "No tunes for Flemeth? How sad." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Zevran crouch slightly, weapons ready; Sten stood waiting, hands loose at his sides. Everyone was expecting a fight.

"You wouldn't be the first mother I've killed this year for the sake of my duty, but I have questions," Missa said in a shrug. "The truth… Or your version of it, at least. You know what Morrigan told me, no doubt."

Flemeth laughed loud and free, voice ringing out in the clearing. "Truth, is it? No, no. Lies are better. Lies of a Mother's love and comforting blankets in the shadows."

Missa put her hands on her hips and smiled at nothing in particular. "I've heard enough," she said then, knowing she'd never get an answer. "Are you done?"

Where Morrigan's mother once stood was now a dragon, and Missa ducked out the way just in time before a sharply teethed mouth snapped her way. They all danced to a tune where no one was sure who the piper was, but Missa was convinced she knew at least a few steps.

As "Flemeth" died by their blades, Morrigan waited at the outskirts of the swamp, hiding from the place she called home. She had killed her friend's Mother, and the irony was not lost on her. As Morrigan appeared -turning from crow to human suddenly- Missa gestured the group to halt.

"Nice of you to tell me, by the way," she said to the witch casually. "You know, about the fact your mother can conveniently shift into a giant dragon. Was good knowing what to expect."

"Yes, we had a lovely tea party with your Mother, Morrigan. There were even crumpets," Alistair said scornfully, trying not to itch the healing burn mark on his neck.

Morrigan completely ignored the man with a roll of her eyes. "I knew you would manage," she said dismissively.

Both Alistair and Wynne viewed Morrigan suspiciously. Missa walked up to her while removing her bag; she wanted the Flemeth's "real" grimoire out from her personal things immediately, a macabre reminder of their task.

Morrigan took it from her opened packback and clutched it to her, and they moved on. "I suppose I owe you a favour now," the witch said.

Missa thought what lay ahead waiting, and laughed. "You wait until you meet my Mam," she said. "Then we'll see."

* * *

She could see the giant statues of the Paragons outside the gates now, and her stomach lurched.

Missa stubbornly began to lock down every shred of emotion and loose thought, shoving it somewhere she could deal with later. She was a Grey Warden and not a duster. She would deal with the treaties and the obligations calmly and through a filter; if she had to pretend she was a surfacer, then so be it. If she had to step aside and let Alistair deal with those who only saw the brand on her face despite her title, then she would.

She said the words over and over in her head until they stuck, refusing herself to be angry. Everyone knew she had become colder and distant, her face obviously tight and pinched. Zevran knew better then to distract her with anything, and offered to walk with her in companionable silence instead, the rest finding her company too harsh. Missa spoke only to give orders to the group, tone brisk and business like.

She had awkwardly tried -and failed- in explaining the dwarven caste system at their last camp, a part of her wanting at least to defend something about her own kind. Zevran had pieced together enough from their pillow talk to know what she was in her home and how she was expecting to be treated, and he wondered how far _his _Grey Warden would allow herself to be broken by it. She knew what her lover was thinking, even if he didn't say anything. The others only saw the grim determination she wore of her expecting to get a job done, and Missa was thankful at least for that.

Halfway along the path they were ambushed. Zevran had sneered with disgust at the assassination attempts, barely worth the poison on his blades. "Amateurs," he only offered, dragging a corpse off of her. She flicked blood off her daggers and stood, finally seeing the gates up close, the entrance surrounded by merchants and traders alike.

Morrigan and Sten dealt with hiding the bodies from view while she walked through the crowds, throwing her cloak over the bloodstains on her armour. The gates were shut; of course they would be, and she readied the treaties in her hands, expecting a fight.

Apparently there was a queue. Missa vaguely recognised the gatekeeper, and hoped he wouldn't return the favour. "I have Grey Warden business," she said firmly, ignoring the humans also jostling for attention. The treaties were examined and Missa's ears pricked at the word _King_, and she quickly worked out who the shouting human worked for.

"I wouldn't trust her," the lordling spat, finally bothering to look her way. "She is a stain of honour to the land of Ferelden! As King Loghain's right hand man I demand you allow us entry!" Missa refused to look at Loghain's lackey and put a hand on her throwing knife casually.

"I don't care what you are. Orzammar is closed until a new King is crowned."

"Endrin's dead?" Missa said, an eyebrow raised, working things out. "Huh. He was apparently dying when I left," she said to Alistair in a shrug, and then mentally kicked herself hard at her slip already.

"Let me see your face," the gatekeeper demanded, working out who she was.

"Hey now," Alistair started to say. "There's no need for any accusations, right?"

Missa pulled down her cloak and glared at him defiantly, almost turning his cheek to show her brand. "I remember you," he said, a look of disgust on his face. "You're the duster who dishonoured the Stone by entered the Provings."

The other guard leaning against the gate snorted. "I lost fifty silver in that fight."

"Terribly sorry," Missa muttered, voice dripping in sarcasm.

"I'm not," the guard replied. "Got my money's worth in entertainment, brand. It was a great fight."

The human to her left sneered. "Looks like you won't be getting in either… What was it they called you? _Duster_? Brand?"

"Run along to Loghain and tell him I said hello, would you?" Missa said in a humourless smile. "The grown ups are talking." As the man made to pull out his sword, Zevran tutted.

"I would not, were I you. Consider what surrounds you," the elf said, pulling at his gloves casually. To give the man some credit, he did as Zevran asked, looking from Morrigan's annoyed glare to Sten's impassive gaze, then back to the short dwarven woman who looked about ready to gut him on the steps.

"Take it off my sodding door if you are going to poke each other. I can't be dealing with it here," said the gatekeeper, waving his hands in irritation at them.

Loghain's lackey admitted defeat and walked away, his men in tow. The guard snorted, then looked her over, finally opening the heavy stone gates. Missa refused to look away, to cower under the gaze of the gatekeeper currently fixing her a look that said: _you're still a brand_.

The doors finally opened in a scrape of metal and stone, and she saw only darkness. The statues of the Paragons illuminated by the barest of lights stared down at her, impassive in their judgements. As they all stepped into Hall of Heroes, she breathed in the scent of stone and lava again, despite herself.

"Welcome to my oubliette," she muttered, eyes grim. Zevran heard her and laughed, and Missa stepped forward; she was ready to face her city again, if only for the moment.

* * *

**Author's Note**: sorry for being slack with updating, this was an interesting chapter to write and get into order. Thank you to Holly for my '_Flemeth, Missa and Alistair have a tea party_' drawing she did for me, I pretty much exploded in glittert when she gave it to me.

Check my profile to a link to all the artwork Duster has created over the next few days! I'll put all the Missa Brosca art that I've managed to scratch out and what very nice people have drawn for me also. Seriously, I'm spoilt!


	17. Old Flames And New Family

She had to get away, and she realised she was reacting like a child. The door to the Commons awaited them, but she knew she had to get her head straight to be any good to anyone.

It was selfish to find Rica first; she knew this, but Missa had to. She withdrew five sovereigns from her purse and gave them to Alistair. "Find us an inn," she said tersely. "I have to find out some things first. Anymore then forty silvers is pushing it for us all, so don't be conned. And whatever you do, avoid Tapster's."

He looked at her like she had just ordered him to burst into dance. "But- how? This is your city. I just assumed…" The look she was giving him stopped him mid sentence. "Right. Well, I suppose I can do that. While you find out _things_, obviously."

"Don't give me that. This is my fucking city, as you so eloquently put, and I can find out what we need to know far quicker then the rest of you trailing after me. I don't need any slack jawed gawping from you all while I try to get us what we need." Missa stripped her cloak off, the heat of the city finally getting to her; she was dressed for a surface winter, and not the warmth of heated lavastone.

Morrigan snapped her head around, annoyed at her reaction. "Slack jawing, is it?" Missa was not in the mood to humour the witch, and merely glared.

"I'll meet up with you all later."

Alistair grabbed her shoulder before she bolted. "How will you find us?"

She rolled her eyes at that. A bunch of non-dwarven surfacers trailing around in the Commons would surely be hard to spot, obviously. "I just will," she replied shortly. She nudged Dog to sit, hands firm. "You stay," she ordered the mabari, and ignored his whines.

Missa picked her feet up and finally entered the inner gates of the city she called home most of her life, refusing to look behind her at the men and women who had followed her orders without question. She had stubbornly avoided letting them see the inches of her left broken and bruised by her own homebound issues, and stepped into the heat of Orzammar one more time. Already Missa diverted her gaze from the eyes of the Paragons watching her, her entire demeanour shifting from commander to thug in a space of a candle snuff.

Zevran had watched Missa go thoughtfully, her subtle change of body language obvious to him. He of course did not believe the nonsense she spat at them about "finding things out," but did not begrudge her need to right herself.

"Leave her to stew in her own temper." Sharp fingernails were dug into his arm. He raised an eyebrow at the action and smiled, trying not to show his annoyance at Morrigan's grip, unaware he was drifting along Missa's long gone trail. Dog whined at him, and Zevran was conscious of the fact they both were the only ones who appeared to be outwardly concerned.

He inclined his head in a bow, politely removing the witch's grip with a restrained sidestep. "Indeed," was all he replied to her. "Well then my friend," he said, facing Alistair. "Lead on... Since you appear to be in charge now. What fun!"

Alistair snorted once, pushing the stone doors with a heave. " Do me a favour? Jump in the lava, Zevran."

The elf laughed. "Alas, no. Nice try, though."

All of them walked into the unfamiliar, but only a few were worried about the absent.

* * *

Instinctively she was heading to the shadier parts of the Common. Already Missa was sticking to the quiet edge of the street, hiding from the guards ready to round her loitering self up and shove her back to the slums if caught. The merchants and traders were still at their stalls, and it was easy to slip into the shadows and observe, moving when she was convinced she had garnered some attention.

While she knew that of course she was here as a Warden and not the Carta thug everyone expected her to be, the brand on her face had not disappeared. Her hair was long enough to hide it from view, but Missa knew she did not have to anymore. She was very aware she had to find her mask again soon, before she was broken by the mess she had boxed up on the surface and refused to deal with until later, even though she knew the later had arrived now.

She stopped her stealthy pacing when she saw a familiar blonde head amongst the merchants and buyers, silver earrings reflecting in the golden heat of the lava. Missa caught her breath at the sudden stab of awareness and found herself approaching. "Lina?" She said, not even sure why she why was doing it.

"Well! Look at you," the other woman replied, a smirk on her face. "You've returned, I see!" A hand was placed on her elbow, a kiss against her cheek. "Looking good, Brosca," was whispered in her ear, breath hot against her skin, lingering a little longer then was polite.

Missa gently extracted herself from the very public embrace. "Thanks," she said wryly, and crossed her arms. "So do you. But you always did," and smiled at the pretty Noble Hunter.

Lina's clothes weren't exactly showy and colourful, and her jewellery neither precious metals or cut gemstones, but Missa knew quality and wealth when she saw it. Her old lover was not starving in the slums of Dust Town, but clearly not elevated to courtesan status.

"Always were a smooth talker." Lina quirked her head to one side and looked her over unashamedly, moss-green eyes drinking her in. "So. Seen Rica, I assume? Girl's done well for herself, but you always knew that, right?"

The words stung her more then she thought, and Missa looked away suddenly. "No, not yet."

"You really don't know?" Lina asked, disbelief on her face. A smirk quirked on her lips briefly and Missa scowled.

"I just returned home," and realised her choice of words.

Lina raised her eyebrows again, still smirking. "Well now. And I'm the first person you see? I do feel honoured_. _No Rica? No warm, loving reunion with your Mother?"

She scowled at the Noble Hunter and turned on her heel, her anger getting the best of her. "I should be going now."

A manicured hand was put on her arm possessively, silver bracelets cold against her skin. Missa reluctantly allowed herself to be led. "You know I like to tease… And you always did rise so beautifully."

The anger in her stomach twisted, but somehow she couldn't leave. "You really haven't changed."

The Noble Hunter chuckled, and linked her arm around hers. "Come on, Tapster's is near; let me buy you a drink like old times. I'll fill you in with what you've missed, it's been awhile, girl."

Missa found herself to be dragged to the familiar inn, pushing down reminiscences she thought she had forgotten. She sat in a darkened corner and avoided the other patrons and waited, smelling the offered mug to her curiously when Lina finally sauntered over.

"It's apple juice, apparently. I remembered your _thing _about booze," Lina said, a hand on her thigh. Missa moved along the stone bench, the other woman apparently intent on sitting next to her regardless of where she was.

"Don't start your nonsense," she muttered. Here was something new and yet familiar about her home, and she allowed herself to be drawn into it. "Where's..." And her breath hitched slightly, caught in her throat. "Where's Rica, anyway? And… Leske, is he still around?"

The blonde clapped her hands once, amused. "Oh, this is too precious. Me, telling you first! Rica's going to love that." Lina looked at her over her mug, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

Missa glared again, dark eyes steely. "Lina..." She warned.

Lina put her mug down and tilted her head to one side, smiling still. "Leske is still knocking about in Dust Town," and Missa nodded once, relieved. "But I've not been back to our neighbourhood in awhile, so not completely sure. I live in the Commons now, been put up in a nice apartment all to myself."

"By _nice apartment_ you mean knocking shop I assume," Missa said, using the slang for the houses the nobles paid for their women to live in, just close enough to Dust Town to be legitimate and legal. Lina nodded once, eyes unreadable. "And Rica?"

"She lives in the Diamond Quarter with your Mother now. I'm sure you know what that means. Girl landed on her feet belly up, if you follow me." Missa sat back, stunned. Did that mean Rica was an _official_ courtesan now? The thought turned her stomach, and she wondered in her sister was happy with her body stretched with a baby. If she gave her all her surface money she had, would Rica leave? Stone, who was the Father?

As she said nothing, Lina leant in to whisper, enjoying Missa's apparent confusion. "Seems all those skills Beraht made her learn was useful for something, no? I hear she's _very_ popular with the nobles."

Missa grabbed the blonde hard enough to leave a bruise, fingers digging into pale flesh ruthlessly. "Like you, you mean? Don't think you're any better, Lin. As you're not," she hissed through her teeth. "You know what? I got better things to do then listen to your sniping."

"Once a thug, always a thug. Do your business and leave, right?" Lina laughed again, completely unaffected by the steely grip on her arm; it was a pretty sound, and drew attention to them.

"And you would know. Isn't that what you do for a living?" Missa slunk into the shadows of their alcove, irritated at the notice. Finally she pushed the other woman away, refusing to storm off. Already they were getting far too much attention for their liking, even in a place like Tapster's; it unnerved her, and made her realise it was far from the intent of her little excursion from the others.

The Noble Hunter 's reaction was only to smile wickedly. "You going to call me a whore now, duster? How the big, brave Grey Warden speaks! Tell me, how is it on the surface as a brand? Are you spat in the face and called a slag like you are here?" Lina said, twining herself around her once more, putting herself in front of the booth's exit so Missa wouldn't bolt.

"_No one will be spitting in my face_." The brand on her face suddenly felt like it itched, and Missa refused to give in.

Lina smiled at her words, meekly folding her arms. "Of course. You're the duster who became a Warden. Who can forget? You're practically a hero in Dust Town; brands will be lining up to touch your feet in wonder... After they've stolen your boots first, obviously." She looked at her former lover in question, unashamedly forward in her actions.

Missa ignored her and tightened her fists under the table. She forgot about how capricious Lina could be when she was in the mood for it; especially when she knew something you didn't. "What are you hiding from me?" She asked shortly. "Say what you're brewing."

"This city is a mess, you know," the Noble Hunter continued with a pretty shrug, not quite answering her question right away. "Funny you should come back here at this moment."

Missa snorted once and rested her feet on the chair opposite, drifting her gaze to watch a group of off- duty guards drunkenly yell about a recent Provings match. She chewed a nail bed before she spoke, waiting for Lina to stop her nonsense. "When is it not? I'm here on Warden business; it's not a social visit." Guilt pinched her and she thought of Rica again, determined to find her after she had finished with Lina.

The pretty Noble Hunter laughed again, a hand to her chest. "Oh_, you_. How important you sound, do you know that? My little Brosca, no longer the Carta thug. Right? Slaughtering darkspawn and saving the world. Or something like, anyway." Missa answered her with another glare.

"Fuck you, Lina."

Already have, naturally." It was finally brought up, and Missa rolled her eyes.

"Subtle, Lin. Real subtle."

The blonde adjusting her bangles with a shrug, finally bored enough to talk social niceties.

"Well…You know how the _deshyrs_ are about their little Assembly discussions. Nobles would argue over the correct way to piss in a pot if a law was made about it."

Missa laughed hollowly. "True. The King's dead, right? Took long enough."

Lina smirked cynically and reached for her mug. "He died of a broken heart. Allegedly. Left a right mess behind, which you've just walked into."

"As always," Missa muttered, shifting the hidden dagger at her boot so it didn't dig in.

"You remember Sereda Aeducan? Everyone does. Vapid little bitch killed the heir and got caught. She was executed by the Deep Roads, probably last year's genlock food by now."

"Sounds convenient."

"A little _too_ convenient, no?" Lina paused, and then looked her over slyly, capricious once more. "Tell me, what do you remember about Prince Bhelen? Not that it's _that _important, obviously."

Missa looked her over suspiciously, trying to work out the game she was playing. Lina really did look like the nug that just swiped the lyebread, and she fixed the Noble Hunter a sceptical glance before speaking again. "Not a lot. Why?" He wasn't the heir, he wasn't the spare; Missa didn't even know what he looked like.

"Then you're in for a delicious treat," Lina replied.

She was still confused at the reaction, as Lina was apparently still smug at her ignorance.

"Why?" Missa asked again bluntly, getting to the point.

"You never were one for games, darling girl. A pity."

Missa clenched her jaw and tried to keep her temper under control despite her ex-lover's teasing. "Lina..." She warned again.

Hmm." Lina ran a fingernail over Missa's tightly bound hands and smiled. "Since you asked so nicely. See, King Endrin himself renounced Bhelen was unfit to rule. According to Harrowmont, anyway."

She frowned again. All Missa knew of Harrowmont was that he threw dull, dry parties- according to Rica- and that the noble was the dead King's former Second. "They never make it easy, do they?" She muttered. Of course there would be complications. She then fixed Lina a curious look. "How do you know so much about this, anyway?"

Lina laughed again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'll be surprised what's whispered into my ears from my position in bed." She leant forward and placed a kiss behind her ear, breath hot. "Why don't we go back to mine and I'll show you? It'll be… something familiar."

Missa pushed her away, despite temptation. "Not now, Lina."

The Noble Hunter backed away suddenly, a gap finally between them. "I won't ask twice, you know."

"Good. That means I won't have to refuse again."

The blonde laughed again, brushing aside the rejection easily. "What's this, Brosca the Bronto refusing a tumble? Got yourself a piece of surfacer, have you? What are humans like? Or maybe it's an elf. Oh! How _exotic_."

Missa glared at her, ignoring the bait. "Why Harrowmont?" she asked through her teeth, steering the conversation somewhere safer. "What do you know about him?"

The other woman smirked, aware of the deflection. "You want the opinion of a lowly Noble Hunter? Is it standard Grey Warden practise to solicit advice from working girls, or just those that were dusters?"

"You always did know the good gossip," Missa replied bluntly, ignoring the barb.

"Hmm, flatterer." Lina laughed quietly, smiling then. "Well. Harrowmont is allegedly the only one to hear this forsaking of Bhelen from the King's deathbed, so you can see the problem there. He's fairly... Traditional. Much in line of the old King's way of thinking. And was very loyal to him in _many_ ways, if you follow my meaning."

She shrugged at that. "That rumour is old as the Paragons, Lin. You got anything new to add?"

Lina leant in a little further and Missa could smell her perfume again. "Of course I do. One interesting rumour is that Bhelen himself had his own Father poisoned. Can you imagine? Others say Harrowmont did it, of course. But I struggle to believe it, that old boy is far too dull for something that imaginative."

Missa frowned and shifted away from the blonde, trying to think what would be expected of her. "Great. There's a Blight going on and this place is pissing about with poisons still."

"Surface problem," Lina said with a shrug.

Missa glared at her, dark eyes sparking in anger suddenly. "Like fuck it is."

The Noble Hunter smiled, refusing to cower. "I forgot about that temper of yours."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "And what do you think?" Missa asked, suddenly curious.

"About this Blight, or your temper?"

She sighed in irritation. "Neither. About the whole King business."

Lina looked up to the ceiling, calculating eyes distantly working things through. "Bhelen might be an Aeducan, but he has ...ideas," she said finally. "Which I'm sure you'll know all about soon first hand anyway."

"Really?" Missa replied, wondering where this was going.

The blonde ignored her question again. "This place needs something new. Something big and angry to tear it down and start again, or we're going to go stagnant and rot."

The words that came after were both cheap and painless for her to say. "If you feel that, then why haven't you left? Head to the human city, get a new life there. Trust me, a girl with your talent? You'll find work. "

The Noble Hunter laughed hollowly. "What, fucking rich surfacers instead deshyrs? So easy for you to say, right? So _easy_."

Missa realised her mistake and ran a tired hand over her face, unsure if anything she'd say now would even filter through Lina's abrupt resentment. "I didn't mean... That. I used to be the same, you know. About the surface, I mean. It's not all bad, Lin," she said quietly.

"Not all of us are given Stone-like opportunities to escape this shit hole, Brosca. Hoping on luck gets you killed around here, and you take what you can get instead."

The words stung, despite Missa trying not to let them affect her. "Lina..." She started to say, unsure if she had to apologise.

The Noble Hunter stood then, head held high. "I was wrong about you," she said, voice wavering slightly. "You'll always be a duster. It's something you can't quit. It's as clear as the brand on your face, girl. Don't you ever forget it, no matter how high and mighty you return home, full if it."

Missa met her toe for toe, tired eyes suddenly cold and angry. "Lin," she said dangerously low. "Leave before I say something I regret."

The Noble Hunter clenched her jaw and walked away. "Don't fall off that pedestal, _duster._ You might do yourself a damage."

* * *

Regret and guilt currently was propelling her to walk towards the Diamond Quarter, unsure what she was going to say to the sister she hadn't seen in over a year. Missa had made up her mind that she had been sulking long enough, and it was now time to face at least something she had been hiding from since she arrived here.

She was aware she was being stared at. A brand with surfacer clothes walking freely in the Commons was bound to get attention, but currently she was too angry at her ineptitude earlier in Tapster's with Lina to bother about concealing herself; Missa did not begrudge the other woman's bitterness, as she would've probably reacted the same in the situation. She couldn't shake the dust from her boots that easily, despite her time on the surface.

"Missa!" She heard Alistair call. She tightened her fists in anger and forced herself not to snap at her friend.

"You're fast," he said, breathing heavily, hands on his armoured knees. "When did you get fast?"

She chuckled, despite her anger. "Years of practise running around in these streets when I shouldn't be."

Behind them Zevran, Leliana and Sten caught up, all of them openly stared at by the occupants of the Commons. The attention unnerved her and she gestured for them to hide in the shadows of a food stall, trying to conceal them all at least partially.

Zevran smiled at her actions, politely hiding it behind a glove. "We are apparently staying at the delightfully named Smelting Pot. And what a _pot_ it is."

Missa snorted. "Not bad food there. Terrible beer, though." She frowned, trying to right herself. What exactly did they expect her to do? "Well. This city is a mess," Missa said to no one in particular.

"You need your men for your treaties, Warden. They cannot refuse," Sten said tersely.

She looked up at the Qunari and grinned without humour. "Not until the stalemate goes away. It's the way it is."

Leliana leant around Sten to look at Missa then, blue eyes curious at her words. "But... Why? There is an obligation, yes? For them to help us."

"Because the Assembly argue like children over the last mosscake, that's why. This city is ripping itself apart because of it, according to gossip anyway. I think we need to prod something or nothing will be done. Grey Wardens are respected here, but I'm not sure we have enough power to force fat little deshyrs into action."

Missa was about to say something else, but Alistair piped up. "Bhelen is on one side and Harrowmont is on the other, their supporters are allegedly evenly split. Bhelen is the heir as he's an Aeducan, but Harrowmont contests it. And the Assembly are currently arguing about it all."

"That's... Pretty much the gist, yeah." Missa blinked in shock. It must have shown on her face, as Alistair looked slightly indignant at her reaction.

"What? I'm not completely stupid when it comes to politics, you know."

"He was talking to the inn's barmaid about it," Sten said blandly. "She gave him a free beer and he giggled like a small human girl."

Alistair rounded on the taller man, blustering in indignation. "I did not giggle! Why is it so hard for you lot to imagine I worked this out by myself?" Zevran opened his mouth to say something, but Alistair silenced it with a glare. "Don't even think it, assassin."

Zevran made a gesture of pursing his lips. "Wouldn't even dream it, my friend."

Leliana laughed then, blue eyes coy. "I'm sure you've at least dreamt a few things, Zevran."

It got a genuine laugh out of Missa, the first in days. She looked at them both, grinning. "I've sure he has, filthy little so-and-so that he is."

"_Little_? How you wound me, my dear. I shall remember that for later," Zevran replied. He raised an eyebrow at her and she smirked at the challenge.

Alistair frowned at his words. "You're... What are you talking about?" He asked. While he was pleased to see his friend laugh, the intent behind it baffled him. Once it clicked into place however, he made waved his hands irritably. "No one is going to be dreaming of me. Doing anything. Anywhere. Please?"

The Bard smiled at his words, eyes still sparkling in mischief. "That's a shame. I had a delightful dream where you danced in a pretty blue velvet suit with a giant cheese. Not sure what it meant, but the Fade obviously knew, no?" She said, enjoying the man's ingenuous reaction to the entire conversation.

"What kind of cheese?" Alistair asked suspiciously, despite his blushing. "Wait! I don't want to know, thank you. Somehow you'll make it dirty. I like my cheese pure and... and.... undirty. And not ...that."

Leliana folded her arms, an eyebrow raised. "What kind of girl do you take me for, Alistair? It was a giant cheese, dancing. To a fine Val Royeaux jig, if I recall correctly."

Alistair waved his hands in frustration and proceeded to dig himself further into a hole. "No no no! I didn't mean that, I meant..." He made a noise of frustration at pointed at Zevran. "It's his fault! He says... words. And they get twisted into something _smutty_. And before you know it you're wondering how an innocent conversation about cheese gets warped into something entirely different."

Zevran attempted to look sorry, but Missa of course did not believe the intent. "Come now, Alistair. My dreams are filled with another Warden entirely, I can assure you," the Antivan replied. "How can I not? I close my eyes to sleep and all I see are a fine pair of-"

"Zevran," Missa warned.

"Eyes," the elf finished smoothly. Sten had finally walked away in disgust at the conversation, heading back to the inn. "Honestly, they do linger, do they not? Even when they are scowling as beautifully as they are now."

Leliana laughed again, finally appeased. "Of course. It's a fine pair of eyes that keeps you up at night, is it?"

"And lucky us! We get to hear it all," she heard Alistair mutter. "You're both at it long enough. You know, when I'm trying to sleep. Or on patrol. Or apparently not far away enough."

"If you would like tips on certain activities, might I suggest a few things? I could show you a-" Zevran started to say, but Missa punched his arm once to silence him.

"Don't believe his nonsense, Alistair. He does his business quickly and rolls over to go to sleep."

"_Brasca_, woman! How dare you. I have a reputation to maintain. None of this quick business, if you please." Missa gave him a wry smile and the look he responded with meant that the next time they were alone she had a feeling would be… interesting.

"Ah, how sweet," Leliana said with a genuine smile, watching as their apparently unsentimental leader embrace her lover openly. "Heart warming, no? Ah! Why am I still here, I promised Morrigan I would help with supplies. I am glad you are well, Warden. I was quite worried, no?" The Bard kissed her cheek and skipped off, seemingly at ease already in a foreign city.

Missa backed away quickly, realising she had allowed herself to be distracted from finding Rica again and so very annoyed her earlier slip in emotions was somehow noticed by everyone. "If you've all finished your nonsense?" She said, tone suddenly sharp. "I got to... We have to go to the Diamond Quarter."

It was easy to fall back into her commander position after the brevity, despite wondering how her friends would react to her sister. Out of nowhere Dog appeared at the gates of the Quarter, finishing chewing what appeared to be half a roast nug in his mouth. Missa grinned at the thievery and ruffled his ears.

"How very grand," Zevran said, tawny eyes calculating the net and worth of the gold-etched designs of the doors. They separated the Commons from where the nobles and the Shaperate were housed, safe and guarded from the rest of the city.

She ignored the glares of the occupants and waited for the watchmen to open them, amused at his reaction. "Let's go prod some nobles, shall we?"

Zevran smiled down at her, aware of the familiar hard edge of her voice. "All this talk of prodding and politics makes me think of home. Your dwarven affairs of state are not dissimilar to Antiva's, you know. "

"Good. A trained assassin is a useful thing when dealing with deshyrs, trust me," and Missa still grinned at him.

"Brilliant, let's just murder our way to getting what we want, shall we?" Alistair replied sarcastically.

"Tell you what, try telling me that after we're done here. You'll soon change your tune," she muttered.

They walked into the open doors, opulence and wealth greeting them indiscreetly. The Diamond Quarter was never subtle in displaying status, and Missa bit her cheeks at the visual reminder.

"You're here!" She heard being shouted to her right, and Missa turned at the familiar voice.

"Rica?" Was all she managed. Her sister was by the entrance of the Diamond Quarter, scanning every face that entered through the gold plated doors. She seemed softer, rounder; her face was as kind as she remembered, but there was a frown etched there. Rica was waiting for her, and it showed.

Her sister ran up and swept her into a bear hug, all soft silks and embossed jewels pressing into her skin from the embrace. Missa allowed herself one moment of weakness and returned it, head against a bare shoulder.

Realising she was being watched, she pulled away. "That you under all that finery?" Missa asked wryly, aware that her sister was in an expensive surface dress and covered in gems. "Looks like you rolled around in jewels and they all stuck."

Rica's eyes were red and watery. "I'm so glad… I thought… Oh little sister, look at you. You're not so shabby yourself, and… Those scars! I was so worried about you on that surface, if you were even alive still."

Missa shrugged awkwardly and fingered a pink line on her arm given to her not so long ago by a bandit. "Still walking upright."

"When the guards said there was a dwarf Grey Warden in the city I hoped… Well, who else could it be?" Rica nervously patted her hair, aware of the audience. "And you have quite the unusual entourage, here's me and my mouth running away again!"

"Where she leads, we follow. Such a harsh task mistress," and Zevran bowed smoothly to Rica, a smile on his face.

Alistair laughed at that and folded his arms. "She beats us and everything."

"Oh? News to me. A shame, I shall have to be more creatively naughty," the elf said effortlessly.

Missa rounded on them all, annoyance showing on her face. "The pair of you shut the hell up."

"Yes mistress," Alistair said seriously, despite the ghost of a smile twitching at his lips. Dog chose the moment to act the clown, whuffing quietly under his breath and dancing on his paws.

Rica laughed, tentatively petting the mabari gently. Dog responded with a massive lick to her hand, and Missa pushed him away. "Oh for…" Missa grabbed Rica's hand and dragged her further along the street. "You two. Just… don't follow," she ordered to Zevran and Alistair, voice mulish. Dog wagged his stumpy tail and trailed behind regardless of her words, sticking closely to the lady who had scratched his ears nicely.

"Well well," Rica started to say, as soon as they were separated from her friends. "Still running around with the boys and playing at skimstone, I see."

Missa laughed hollowly. "What can I say?"

"Always were one for roughing it. Coming home with scrapes and cuts on your knees, expecting me to patch you up; nothing has changed." They stopped and watched the flow of the lava then, the view of Orzammar from the Diamond Quarter distant and isolated.

"Wasn't just scrapes," Missa murmured, crossing her arms, seeing the smoke of Dust Town float above the Commons.

Rica looked sideways at her sadly, remembering the times her sister bled on their kitchen table, all make shift surgery and blood pooling by her feet. "No, no it wasn't." She followed Missa's gaze, taking in the polished granite and gold of the Diamond Quarter. "Are you impressed? I was when I came here. Couldn't stop gawping, thought my eyes would fall out of my head."

Her sister snorted once and raised an eyebrow. "I've seen the Quarter before, if only from the shadows."

"And to think my son will be growing up in this, seeing this everyday. No more Dust Town." Rica said it nervously, fiddling with the emeralds on her fingers, finally pointing out the bronto in the room.

"So Lina said," Missa replied quietly. "Congratulations." The knife twisted in her stomach, aware of what her sister had to go through.

"I bet she enjoyed that," Rica replied bitterly. "I mean- I know you used to _run _about with her, but…" Rica fiddled with her jewellery again, irritated this time.

Missa moved around nervously on her feet; she hated talking about her …associations with her sister, annoyed at herself for mentioning Lina's name. "Why are you here?" She asked bluntly, gesturing vaguely to the opulence of the Diamond Quarter.

"I'm an official courtesan to House Aeducan," Rica said, the biggest smile on her face. "Thanks to little Endrin."

Her reaction was to laugh, Lina's words coming back to mock her: _Tell me, what do you remember about Prince Bhelen? Not that it's that important, obviously._ She had played right into the Noble Hunter's cat paws, and frankly did not care.

Rica looked at her, slightly hurt. "Sorry," she apologised to her, hands held out. "I wasn't laughing at you… Just- look, are you happy?" She blurted out, unsure at the nervous energy Rica was currently showing.

"Yes! Yes I am," she replied. "I can't wait to show you little Endrin! He's so beautiful, Missa. He has these eyes that just look up at you with so much love when you hold him, I…" Missa realised then her sister was suddenly crying, make up running slightly.

Awkwardly she put an arm around her sister, unsure what to do. "Rica?" She asked cautiously.

The redhead fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes, offering her a watery smile. "Sorry, I don't know why I cry. I've no idea, I'm so _happy. _You're here, and I have Endrin now… It's a new mother thing, apparently. Well, according to the nurses at the palace, anyway," she gabbled, embarrassed at her reaction.

"Can I see him?" Missa asked. While she wasn't exactly the maternal type, she still wanted to see her nephew.

Rica bit her lip, then Missa watched as she stood straighter and fixed her another smile. She knew that look; it was her 'make do and get on with it' face, her mask she put on when things were rough. "They won't… I can only see him when they let me. I can't leave the nursery with him, you see. I'm…" Rica cradled her hands to herself, arms empty.

The look of longing on her face make Missa clench her jaw. "You're not allowed to see your own son?" She asked, voice hard.

"No! It's not like that, just… I'm just a courtesan and…" Missa bit the inside of her cheeks, suddenly so very angry.

"Sounds exactly like that to me," she said quietly.

Rica looked sideways at her, tears finally drying on her face. "You've been gone for too long, little sister. You've forgotten how things are done."

Missa nodded once, trying to fight the anger; no one upset her sister. "Perhaps."

Rica cleared her throat once and squeezed her hand with hers. "Anyway, enough of my silly words. I'll take you to Vartag, Grey Warden. Ah, my sister the Grey Warden! I've not tired of that yet, you know." Missa frowned at her, trying to work out her words. "You can help, you see. Since you're here now."

"Help with what?" She asked, cautious then.

"With putting my Bhelen on the throne, of course," she said, forehead crinkling in a frown.

Missa was genuinely stunned at the reaction. "I've heard some interesting things about Bhelen," she replied conversationally.

"Probably poison dripped into your ear by that Lina no doubt," Rica said viciously. Missa pursed her lips at reaction, eyebrows raised.

"Not just Lina. There are… rumours."

Rica grabbed her hand, this time dragging her along the street. Missa looked over her shoulder to see Alistair and Zevran trying not to pry and failing. "You have no idea how nobles are, it's all lies set to weaken Bhelen's position," she muttered.

"And it doesn't work the other way around too, Rica?" They had stopped, and Missa could see the hurt in her sister's eyes.

"How can you say that?" Suddenly she felt she was the younger kid in trouble with Rica and being dragged home to be scolded, and Missa refused to back down. "If you help my House, it means your family won't be on the street. Do you realise that?"

Missa picked over her words carefully. "_Your_ house?"

"No Missa, our house. _Ours_," she said passionately. "Bhelen… He's even nice to Mother, can you believe it? He cares for family. If he's on the throne as the rightful heir, then…"

Missa finally gave in, waving her hand away. "Fine, fine. Take me to this Vartag. Not sure what I am expected to do, but… I'll see, alright?"

She gestured to Zevran and Alistair, and the pair caught them up. "It's very nice here," Alistair said politely to Rica. "I like what they've done with the, um, lava. And the gold." Missa rolled her eyes and punched his arm, fist clinking against metal. "What? I do."

"Seems we got our leverage to get our army," she said to Alistair, and gestured vaguely in the direction of Rica.

"Does this mean we get to prod now? How delightful," her lover replied, and Zevran raised an eyebrow at her sister expectantly.

"Sorry, I'm being rude. This is my sister, Rica. Rica this is Zevran Arainai, an Antivan crow and all round scoundrel, so watch out."

"You wound my reputation _again_, my dear," Zevran replied. He took Rica's hand and kissed it once, and her sister smiled wryly at the gesture.

"The big one with the mouth is Alistair, the future king of Ferelden," Missa muttered slyly. Alistair groaned at her words, annoyance lining his eyes briefly.

"I hate you. You're a bad, bad woman. Ignore her lies, Rica. I'm sure you're the nice one of the family, and not a slanderous deceiver like your sister."

Rica gasped, falling for Alistair's easy charm with a laugh. Missa slowed down then, realising her sister wasn't quite used the pace of their usual surface walking. "Look at us with our princes," she replied deviously, and Zevran chuckled.

Missa snorted. "Alistair's not my _anything, _just my salroka," she replied firmly. Rica looked her over suspiciously, then smiled at Zevran.

"You always did prefer the scoundrels," she said cryptically, and this time Alistair laughed, enjoying the tables being turned. Missa thought of Leske, annoyed it took her long enough to remember her old friend again. Rica misinterpreted her sudden gloom for something else and looked at the strange surface men once more, imagination running away with her.

"You have no idea," Alistair said wryly. Missa shot him a warning look which he mostly ignored. "What?"

"Oh look, it's the Assembly," she said loudly, noticing the impressive building then. She wasn't entirely sure what this Vartag was or what to expect, but somehow she had a feeling it would not be easy. Missa was unsure if she could even be bothered to care about the social machinations of her old home, but she did care for Rica. If she got even a hint that this Bhelen would treat her unkindly, she would retaliate- prince or no.

Because family was family, even if new homes seemed tempting and safe; Missa would still look out for her own, even if it came with a price.

* * *

The Smelting Pot was an interesting choice for a new base, considering it was mostly a dive for merchants to drink in; at least it wasn't Tapster's, however. Missa sat at the table surrounded by her friends, thinking over the day's events. Hot food would be coming for those that could stomach it, and she fingered the papers given to her by Vartag distantly.

She could hear Shale stomp outside with Dog, the golem sighing in annoyance at the animal's insatiable urge to play. Missa wasn't sure, but she was convinced she saw Sten smile briefly at Shale's interactions with the mabari, and rested her chin on her hands to hide her own grin.

Wynne was looking at her curiously, desperate to say something. "These tasks you're doing for Prince Bhelen…" the mage started to say. Missa turned to face her, eyes unreadable. "Forgive me Warden, it's not my place to say, but…"

Missa resisted scowling at the older woman. Of course Wynne was going to say what she wanted anyway. "But?" She replied, gesturing her to continue.

"Why are we doing these… Chores? I overheard what that scholar said about those papers in the library, and it's wrong. We are deceiving honest people." The mage alluded to the forged documents Bhelen's Second had given her as leverage. Her status as Grey Warden was not enough to persuade some nobles she really could not care less about to swing their votes Bhelen's way, and made a sound of irritation at Wynne's disapproval.

"I really don't care. And if you think those nobles are honest then you've been stumbling around here with your eyes half closed." Her stomach had twisted at the mention of the Shaperate, annoyed at how they were treated there; suddenly she was somehow important enough to be in the Records, but most of her life was still dust to her people.

"Charming," Alistair muttered across the table, shifting uncomfortably in a chair too small for him. "Seems the right thing to do, obviously."

"What do you suggest, hmm? We leave empty handed?" She asked the mage, ignoring her friend's protests.

"Of course not," Wynne replied. "Just that this Bhelen… I understand he is your family in a round about sort of way, but- we are deciding the fate of an entire city, and not just that of you and yours."

Missa couldn't be bothered to even justify her words with a retort. The grasping of a surface mage trying to understand politics here wasn't worth the effort, but she attempted to be polite. "It's necessary," Missa replied bluntly, and was grateful for the interruption of the food arriving.

"If you insist," and Wynne quietly conceded the end of her line of conversation, but not quite giving in. "All I ask is that you consider what this Harrowmont and his people have to say."

"It's only fair," Alistair added. Zevran scoffed at that, and poked his food with a fork curiously.

"Fair? In politics? Hah. I always find it is easier to play fair when you have the winning hand, is it not?"

Missa chuckled at the Antivan's words. "I always bluff regardless."

"And so you should, my dear," Zevran said, smiling indulgently. "Tell me, this Harrowmont. Does he seem a strong candidate to you? If we ignore the …implications of your darling sister, of course, would you still side with Bhelen and offer your voice to his cause?"

Missa spooned up a food and sighed in happiness, almost crying out at the taste of the familiar stew. She chewed quickly and swallowed, too distracted by her meal to give a guarded reaction. "Of course I would," she said quickly. "Harrowmont is old and traditional. You think tradition is what this place needs?"

Zevran chuckled. "No. No, I do not." The rest ate in silence, knowing they wouldn't get anything else out of her. Slowly one by one her companions disappeared to their beds until it was just Alistair left, Zevran leaving her with a knowing, questioning look that Missa mostly ignored.

He stretched out at the sudden room, grateful to spread out his longer limbs, nursing his ale slowly. It was as foul as Missa had said it would be, but Alistair battled on with his drink regardless.

"You look as jumpy as a cave tick and have been since we met Rica. Spit out whatever it is you want to say," she said tiredly. "I am fed up already at playing political nonsense, and don't expect it from you."

Alistair raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm… not? Er." He scratched his chin, then finally put his mug down. "Ah, don't mind me. Just, you know. I kind of agree with Wynne, about Bhelen I mean. I know about your sister and everything, and I was sort of expecting slums and misery, but…"

She rubbed her hands over her eyes and ignored the stab of anger at his words. "Get used to it," she replied quietly. "Because from what I've seen on the surface, humans are just as bad. Think of Loghain, and what he's doing."

He took a large swig of his 'ale' and coughed. "Right." They sat in silence again, and she stood up. "Are you serious? About me being King?"

Missa grinned. Of course his thoughts would be on that, considering what they spent the day doing. "Yeah, I am. We can make it work. It's funny, if you were a dwarf you'd be a legitimate claim anyway- none of this bastard nonsense. Eamon is half right about blood, but it's still not enough to make it happen, and for it all not to fall to shit. You need to realise this."

"I don't get it," he said, frowning. Missa thought of the boy in the man in front of her and resisting sighing.

"When you do, it'll make sense. You'll see," she replied, too tired to explain herself further. "I'm off out for a bit," and she put her cloak on, finally rising from the table.

Alistair clambered out of his seat. "Want company?" He asked in a yawn, curious at where she was going.

"No, not really. If that's okay with you." Missa was going to head into Dust Town, and like hell would she let Alistair trail after her and alert her old neighbourhood with a fanfare of her arrival.

He shrugged. "Be careful, then. Wouldn't want you stabbed to pieces and shoved into the lava, if everything is as bad as you say it is."

Missa smirked her answer, and walked out. "Later, salroka. You can stop drinking the ale now, it's alright. I'm impressed you managed that much."

She walked out to face her old home before he answered, thinking of Leske once more, the other man in her life she only called salroka. She'd find him, she had to.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello, I've been on holiday for a week, so sorry for lapse in update. I am interested in your thoughts of Lina, if you wouldn't mind indulging me. Thanks for reading and reviewing, it all helps!


	18. Crab Bucket

It was foolish to enter Dust Town by using the main street, since it was watched by both guards and dusters alike. There were boltholes into her old neighbourhood, but they had a tendency to shift and change over the months, usually discovered by the city watch and boarded up. New ones were always created, of course. It was just a matter of finding them.

Missa carefully stepped over what looked like vomit and headed into the shadows of Tapster's, forcing herself to remain from view. "Well, damn," she muttered under her breath, poking a stoned over hole in the fence that was there a year ago. Irritably she kicked it and looked around for another entrance.

A sound of footfalls sounded at the entrance of the alleyway and she headed back to the safety of the overhanging gloom of the inn, waiting until they passed. Two duster thugs made their way out of the back entrance, weaving precariously. Missa smiled as she discovered her access then, waiting once more to move.

She lingered by the shadows while they stumbled towards the border of Dust Town. The shorter of the two lifted an empty barrel to one side and she saw a hole under a stone wall,; they crawled into it, laughing about something she couldn't hear.

Missa counted to twenty in her head and followed after, holding her nose against the stench of filth and dirt as she got on her belly and wriggled through, finally touching the ground of her old neighbourhood.

"Wait, I need to piss." Realising that the men she followed hadn't completely moved on she waited _again_, hoping that nothing would flow her way when she heard the sound of running water.

"Seriously, how long does it take, salroka? Shake it off and go."

"Never rush a man when he needs a piss. You sound like Jarvia. Huh."

"I really, _really _doubt Jarvia has watched you piss," the other one said wryly. Missa smiled at the mental image, then the knife in her stomach twisted at the familiar. _Jarvia_. That was a name from the past, and Missa couldn't let it go unnoticed. Curiously she wondered what her old boss was up to, and moved so she eavesdrop at a closer distance.

"She never pays until you say, worse then Beraht. Shit, I have to go around cap in hand most nights after every job and she still don't give you what you earned until you beg."

She peered around the gap carefully and could see they were so wrapped up in the conversation and could not see her. Curiosity got the better of Missa and she pulled herself out quietly, waiting for her the right moment to intervene.

It came when they both looked to move, and she leapt from her crouch. The dwarf with the weak bladder snorted and started to fasten his breeches up, completely oblivious to what was happening. Missa took the opportunity to knock him out with the butt of her dagger before he could move and down he fell, unconscious from her work.

She worked quickly to kick his friend below the crease of his knee, grounding him swiftly. It brought her enough time to swing her foot up and shove his face against the crumbling stone of the wall, her knife following after.

Pricking the back of his neck with her blade Missa twisted the point to warn against struggling. "Don't move," she said composedly, waiting for the tussling to stop. With her free hand she lifted the man up by the scruff of his leathers; he dragged himself up, trying not to lean against the knife at his throat.

"I don't have any money so don't even try it. And I'm Carta, you must be a crazy bitch to take me on. I got friends in all the wrong places and we look after our own around here."

Missa laughed and cut his cheek shallowly, enough to warn. A knee to the small of his back pushed him against the wall again and he stopped struggling, very aware of the blood running down his face. "So have I," she whispered into his ear. "Tell me about your _friends_, duster. I'm curious. Who owns the Carta now?"

"What rock you been living under?" He spat, trying not to flinch at the ticklish trail his cut was making.

Irritably she brought her knee into his back and pushed in harder into the wall. "Don't annoy me, I'm not in the mood. Answer the question."

"J-jarvia. Mistress Jarvia."

Missa pursed her lips and thought it through. "Good boss, is she?" The duster by her feet groaned, breeches still wrapped around his ankles. She kicked him once as he groggily tried to right himself, her blade never leaving his friend's throat. When he didn't answer her question, she sighed and twisted his arm further.

"Fuck you. I ain't telling you nothing."

"You can either tell me or interesting things happen. I'm sure you see how it goes."

The other man stirred and she raised her foot again ready for a kick, but he flinched in contrition. "We're only bottom feeders, man. We don't know nugshit."

She laughed at that. "I'm sure. But you can tell me all you know. Only polite."

"Fuck you, bi-" at that she kneed the mouthy one right in the back again, hard enough to knock the wind out his lungs.

"You," she said, toeing the groaning man on the floor with her boot, watching him carefully in case he reached for his weapons. "Tell me about Jarvia. All that you know."

"She's got the city by the balls," he groggily, touching the bump at the back of the head she caused. "Owns all of Dust Town and the Commons. We're just her lackeys, salroka. We don't know shit. She brings in surfacers to do most of her fighting. She's got the Provings under control too, so what I hear. Making a pretty shiny from it, if you get me."

"_Surfacers_?" Missa replied, shocked. Beraht would've exploded with apoplexy at that.

"Yeah, huge men and mages and shit. All they do is complain too. '_Ooh the food is bad. I can't see the sun. It's so dirty here…_' Pah."

The other one groaned and she lifted her knife back to his throat to remind him of his place. "Gerthun, you nug-brained idiot. Shut up," he cursed under his breath and Missa smiled to herself.

"What? I'm only telling her what Dust Town already knows."

"That's interesting," she said conversationally. "Wouldn't you agree?" She knew it was all they knew; the Carta kept even their thugs in the dark.

"You're soddin' crazy, lady. Crazy." He said his words very carefully around the blade at his throat and she chuckled, aware he was too scared to even swallow.

"You didn't see me, am I right?" Missa dug her dagger a little deeper into a throat and the duster squeaked.

"I didn't see you. Don't kill me, I got a famil-"

"What you're going to do is head towards the end of the alley and not look around. What are you going to do?"

"Not see you." She reached around him and pulled out his daggers, making it a point to throw them aware from them all as far as she could.

One final twist of her blade silenced his protests and it was enough to draw more blood. "Good little duster. I'm going to count to three. After that, you should be gone. Or my blades will find a way home, trust me. One. Two…" Slowly she lifted away her blade and the other dwarf ran from her, not looking back. His friend coughed once and lifted himself off from the ground with a wince, trying to do up his breeches in a rush.

She was left alone and she smiled at nothing in particular. "Three," she said under her breath. Carefully Missa sheathed her blades and stalked along the shadows again. She was back on the streets that raised her, finally feeling at home since the first time since she arrived in Orzammar.

Missa had grudging respect that Jarvia had pulled the reigns in so tightly during her absence and was currently holding the city in a vice grip. She wondered what Lina and Rica would know, and if the pair of them were safe from Jarvia's hold. Lina especially was worrying, as Rica at least _appeared _untouchable. If Harrowmont was conceded by the Assembly however, then her sister's safety would be even more in question.

She knew that power came at a price; Jarvia's reign must have started in bloodshed, the older woman murdering her way to the top quickly and ruthlessly. In all the history of the Carta, Missa had never heard of an ascension of leadership so cleanly done, and for that she wondered just how far Jarvia's reach extended into the other castes.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she changed her route to divert to a merchant she knew in Dust Town; Vartag's little paper chase could wait a few hours more, Blight be damned.

* * *

Zevran had heard the conversation she had with Alistair in the bar of the inn, intent on surprising her casually when she headed to bed; his lover was too highly strung by the politics of her city, and he had been with her long enough to know he could very easily offer a suitable distraction to take her mind off such matters.

He was curious where she would be going to leave at this hour, and had a fair guess where she would be heading. Zevran was adjusting to the lack of daylight rather well, even if he had no idea what the time was. Was the sun outside this forsaken hole of a city right now? Ah, it was Ferelden. Of course the answer would be no.

Unfortunately his exit was not completely unnoticed. Sten, Shale and the Dog -the latter already told sternly to stay in the inn by Missa previously- watched him leave. "The Painted Elf seeks the Warden, does it?" Shale sneered.

Zevran smiled politely to them all. "Perhaps."

Shale stomped over, almost stepping on the mabari lounging by her feet. "The Warden will not thank you. She may even stab you in annoyance. Oh! This I must see. Let us go, I wish to see It fountain blood in interesting places."

"Enough, Kadan. It is foolish for the Warden to travel alone, let the elf go." Reluctantly Shale sighed, and Dog danced around the golem to lick Zevran's hand.

"I do not think you should come either, my canine friend." Dog chuffed in disagreement and Zevran rubbed his jaw, aware he was talking to an animal again. "Most strange, but very well. Do not chase anything and do not pee up places where you are seen. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

The mabari darted ahead of him, nose to the ground occasionally. While Dog made it easier to track the errant Warden, Zevran did find it peculiar to be following a beast. That he could talk to, even, a weird occurrence he had given up trying to rationalise. Zevran had seen a lot on things in his life that could not be explained, and an almost talking dog was surprisingly low on the list.

They found the entrance Missa had snuck into earlier, and he bit back a sigh at the thought of the filth on his leathers as he got on his belly to crawl through. _Delightful_.

As the pair of them pulled through the alleyway, Zevran saw a cloaked dwarf skulk ahead, clearly trailing something. A glance around showed his Warden was being followed, and he trailed the man who was trailing his lover, smiling at the game the three of them were playing.

He had to work quickly, since a mabari was hardly a creature of stealth. Zevran had enough and he stalked up quietly to Missa's watcher, curious as to who he was. "It is a pleasant view, is it not?" He said smoothly, watching as Missa snuck along the streets oblivious to her audience.

As the man startled in movement Zevran grabbed him by the elbow and twisted firmly. "Trust me, I am easily distracted myself watching that rather delicious behind _move. _It is a wonder how I get anything done, but there we are. I battle on."

A fist was brought around but was easily side stepped by the elf. "Let me go," the dwarf snarled in his face, and Zevran tutted as he pushed his assailant into the quiet of the alleyway.

"How rude of you, my friend. I am the one holding the cards here, yes? Or in your case your jewels. Look down," his assailant did and saw a dagger point hovering just above his groin line. "Now, who are you to be following the Warden so?"

When there was no reply, Dog growled quietly to warn, drool dripping to the floor. "I don't respond well to threats."

"Threats? I am merely stating the facts. I will kill you if you do not give me what I want, it's something I am rather good at. I know several ways, and all of them depend on how much information you give me. So let's start with something simple, yes? What's your name?"

"Vasiec."

"How _delightfully _dwarven. Well, Vasiec. Why are you following the Warden?"

The answer came quicker when the dagger was twisted into the softness of his belly, enough to prick a trail of blood. "I was told to."

A little shake and Zevran's dagger pushing in further prompted a looser tongue. "By whom? Come now, let's not play this game. I really do not want to kill you, I assure you. So messy."

"Forender."

_Forender, Forender_… The name was familiar to Zevran. Suddenly something clicked, thinking of his time in the Diamond Quarter earlier with Missa. "Dulin Forender? Harrowmont's man? How interesting. Tell me, what does Harrowmont want with the Grey Wardens, hmm?" It was an obvious statement, but hopefully innocuous enough for the dwarf to reveal something.

"To see what she does. For Bhelen."

Zevran twisted the knife again. "And?"

"If she's working for anyone else. Why she's here. You know, normal stuff."

"Here? As in Dust Town?"

"Yeah. She used to be Carta, Forender knows. Seeing if she's back with her own, as the guards stopped coming here thanks to _her kind_. Reports dried up months ago." Vasiec winced as the dagger moved again.

"How curious."

Dog looked up suddenly, ears pricked. With one quiet whuff he bolted out of the alleyway, changing from his sentry position instantly. Zevran never removed his eyes from the dwarf he had by the scruff.

"So, let me get this in order. You are Forender's little thug, sent to spy on the Warden and her travels. There are no guards in this part of the city due to this Carta, and you have been ordered to intervene, shall we say, any work carried out in Bhelen's name done by my Warden. But discreetly, of course."

Vasiec shifted slightly and Zevran tightened the scruff he held, a polite smile never leaving his face. "It's not like that, I only had to watch. I'm just a scout."

"You lie, I can smell it on you. _Takes one to know one_, as a whore once said to me."

Vasiec looked away, trying to kick out on the hold the elf had on him. "I'll say no more," he gasped, trying to fight.

"I thought you might say this, how sad." Zevran then heard a familiar cry echoing down the alleyway, a fierce, frenzied barking following soon after.

"I suggest you let me go. I am a man of Harrowmont. I am not a duster, my life has value here. If I disappear, there will be repercussions. Investigations, even."

They were useless words, Zevran knew. "This Dust Town… It sees death everyday? Yet here you are, in this forsaken hole. And there will be no guards patrolling for awhile, as you informed me."

He brought his dagger up and under a stout ribcage, the point finding a home. Vasiec collapsed by his feet and Zevran began to drag him to the darkest part of the alleyway, bleeding still, hiding the evidence of his work. It wasn't neat, but he had to hurry; he suspected Mis- _his Warden_ was in trouble, and he started to run to catch up.

* * *

She really regretted not killing them earlier when she had the chance. Especially the mouthy one.

"That's her all right. Crazy bitch thinks she can threaten us around here. Let's teach her what we do," pointing at her with his dagger.

Missa took one look at the drunk, swaying group of thugs that greeted her and clenched her fists. Five against one, could be tricky. "Your tiny manhood was _that_ threatened? How sweet," she said, pulling back her cloak, "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

The one she threatened previously looked her over, finally seeing what she looked like. "What are you, some noble's whore shoved back where she belongs? Hah."

Dog bolted out of nowhere and barrelled straight into the nearest duster, knocking him down instantly. With a humourless grin she followed after, using the distraction of her mabari to bring an elbow to the throat, her odds in favour again.

The fight was a brawl, no finesse or skill, but it was something Missa remembered. Pain shattered in her right eye and she practically growled as she was punched, finally knocked down. She pushed her legs out to sweep her attacker off of the ground. It worked, but barely. Her blades found vital arteries of a leg and she feinted quickly to stop a thug about to backstab her.

"Not in the habit of slaughtering idiots," she said, spitting out blood. "But you've made me very angry." Looking up she saw one of the dusters scream in pain as Dog bit a large chunk out of the flesh of his leg. As another assailant swung his mace out again, she darted her dagger forward and blood spilt across her face distantly, finally silencing the protests.

The remaining two took one look at the pair of them and ran off. Dog made to follow after, but she called him back. Missa stood shakily, adrenaline raging through her body. Her mabari licked her boot and she petted his head vaguely, glad he was there. "How are you not skinned and in a pot yet? You're like a walking meal around here," she asked him, and Dog whined. "Good boy," she said, still ruffling his ears. They were such rare words from his mistress that he practically writhed in pleasure.

A woman with a basket of washing opened the door closest to her, took one look at the scene and bolted back in. Missa stretched her arms up in a smile until something clicked and counted her injuries. They were minor enough not to return back to the inn, so she wiped most of the blood off of her skin with her cloak, unaware that Zevran was watching from a distance.

With a last stretch she headed to Alimar's shop, a merchant she always used to visit. Loudly she rapped on the bent, battered door, all pretence at stealth gone.

It was opened barely an inch and Missa showed her face through it, raising an eyebrow. As it was pulled back further, she finally saw Alimar.

"Well. You. I remember you," he said, voice gruff. Missa swallowed the blood in her mouth and tried not to poke her loose tooth with her tongue, aware she was covered in the evidence of her recent fight.

"I'm flattered," she said coarsely, finally stepping over the threshold. Dog sat on the floor and whined at Alimar, brown eyes curious.

The merchant took one look at her and bolted the door to his shop. "What do you want, duster. Or should that be _Warden _now?"

Missa laughed at being finally recognised here, aware that her reputation had reached the ears of her old home already. "My shoulder tattoo got mangled on the surface. Any chance you could redo it?"

She looked at Alimar completely with straight face, distantly rolling the shoulder in question. She'd been in his shop in worse condition before, begging to buy pain medicine or something not entirely legal. What Alimar did that kept her here was his sideline as a tattooist; he knew how to remove brands too- for a price, of course.

"You come all the way into Dust Town to get inked? Out all the places you can go in this city?" He fixed her a look of disbelief and crossed his arms, still uneasy.

Missa shrugged at that. "You did it in first place."

He still looked suspicious, but walked past her to lock the door. "You're lucky I'm closing shop. Head in the back, I assume you remember where that is? I'll see what I can do. And don't let that beast of yours touch anything."

Methodically she stripped her tunic and leant forward on the chair, waiting for him arrive; Dog settled on the floor with a sigh, as meek as a nug, and she looked around at the painted designs on the wall.

She got her first tattoo here at aged fifteen, a pattern around her stomach. The tattoo nestled in the small of her back -Leske called it a welcome mat- followed soon after, all from this room. As the runty dwarf entered though the doorway, she smirked. "Business good?" She asked, head in hands.

Alimar put a cold hand on her shoulder blade and poked the design of dwarven runes there, mangled now by her scars. "What caused this?" He said gruffly, ignoring her question.

"A bear. A very angry bear," thinking of her time in the Brecilian forest.

The merchant grunted and got out his inking tools. "Should be fine, they don't run too deep. Have to work around one, though. My pay is thirty silvers for this, it's a lot to fix."

"You've put your prices up." She wriggled against the chair and was slapped on her arse for doing so. With a grin she stopped moving, trying not to let the ticklish needles began to irritate her skin and Missa breathed through it.

"A lot's changed since you left, girl."

"So I've heard." The needle dug in further and she tried not to move. "King's dead, for one."

"Like anyone of those long streaks of piss give a nug's bollock what happens around here," he said bitterly.

Rica came to her head, then, never far from her thoughts now she was home. Bhelen's little woman, as Dust Town as she. "Perhaps."

"What's the surface like?" Alimar asked, changing the subject. Missa let it happen, preferring to get to the point about why she was here.

"Now or in general?" She closed her eyes and laid her head in her hands, voice muffled slightly.

"Eh. You know."

She smirked at the attempts of small talk, but played along. "_Now _it's just cold and wet. Winter is not pleasant. It's alright in the summer, though. The sun feels like lava in the sky and it heats you up."

"Sounds horrible," and at that the merchant shuddered. "I heard the air can make you ill up there."

Missa shrugged and was duly slapped again, trying to divert the conversation back where she wanted it. "Tell me about Jarvia… How come she hasn't turned on you, yet? What I heard girl's got a strict hold on everything around here."

Alimar laughed cynically and Missa winced as he got a little heavy handed with his needle. "As if I'd tell you."

"Come on, Alim. Play fair."

The merchant sighed and stopped his work. "Five sovereigns."

"If you think I have that much money, you got another thing coming," Missa lied. Silver pried open tongues just as easily in Dust Town and she wasn't going to cough up that much for a bribe.

"No. That's what I pay to keep her off my back."

She looked over her shoulder carefully and raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot for a duster."

"I know, you're telling me. Soddin' bronto wants more, too." The needle was jabbed into her back once more and she gritted her teeth, feeling liquid drip down her back; she really hoped it was ink and not her blood. "Jarvia kills those that disagree with her offer, too. Ain't much left around here that don't have the Carta's _protection,_ if you see what I mean."

"Who's left?" Missa thought of the hustlers and dealers and thieves she knew and ran around with, the neighbourhood clowns, pimps and whores that made the place what it is. Or was, in her case.

"Bervan's dead. He don't deal anymore, got run off the streets. Vacea's boys are gone too. Shit, Carta even ran off Manda. And that old lady was the only one around who could produce meals from dirt and it taste good. Only one knocking around is Rogek, but that long streak of nug piss has more money then sense thanks to that lyrium shit he does."

"Jarvia closed down the _Shack_?" Missa said in disbelief. It was only a food stall, and the only decent place to eat around Dust Town.

"Old girl couldn't afford the protection fee, probably. Ah, she's still around feeding those that don't feel 'emselves, you know how Manda is. Jarvia catches that particular change of seamline and her boys will be having words, if you get my meaning."

"How is Jarvia doing this all? She has to have help from the castes and guards, who else is she leaning on?" Missa asked throatily, trying not to twist round to face him.

Alimar was silent for a while, and she bit her lip as he worked over the bone of her shoulder blade. "I ain't telling you anymore, girl. Because you're going to leave, and most of us got to deal with this slagheap when you're gone."

Missa knew she had to be careful with her next questions, as Alimar was more agreeable with bribery then threats. Still, she rather wanted her tattoo finished, even if she had to endure his company. So she aimed for an easier, less loaded query. "You seen a duster named Leske around at all? Was part of the Carta when I was there, if you remember him."

There was a too long pause before he spoke, and the needle dragged over her skin stilled. "Hmm. You used to run about with that bruiser, I remember."

"Yeah. He was my salroka," and she hated herself for saying it. Leske was there to watch her back when she was in the Carta, but she knew things were different now. She was the 'silk and steel' duster returning home, and her guilt at what she was and what Leske was not drove her to walk the streets of her neighbourhood again.

"I ain't seen him in awhile. You know how Dust Town is."

While what Alimar said was true, there was something unsaid he wasn't revealing. Swallowing her wallowing self-pity, she tried to provoke another reaction out of the merchant. "How often do the Carta visit you for, uh, _protection_?"

A firm hand pushed a cloth over the work on her shoulder to blot the plasma, blood and ink and Missa grunted in annoyance at the sting it caused. "You know, I could have this needle loaded with poison," Alimar said conversationally, dragging it across her skin once more. "You could be dead by now if I wanted it. You go careful, girl. You're poking a stalker's nest around here, and it won't do you any favours. My tongue won't loosen anymore."

Before she could react, Dog rumbled quietly. Missa held a finger out at the merchant, unsure what caused her mabari to growl so suddenly. "We got company," she said, ignoring his earlier statement. Dog wagged his tail shortly then sat back down, tongue lolling cheerfully, suddenly no longer a threat. She felt a stab of anger and knew exactly who was trailing her now.

"I don't like this," he said, despite Missa's suddenly relaxed demeanour.

"Well now," she said loudly. "Who it could be? Who would be stupid enough to venture into Dust Town alone without a guide, I wonder?"

Alimar was still suspicious, and pulled a dagger out. "Friend of yours?" He asked shortly, unsure what lurked in the doorway. "Door was locked, not sure how they could get in…"

"Let's see. I really doubt it's Sten. Definitely not Shale, much too quiet. Morrigan and Leliana are sleeping, Wynne wouldn't even dream of venturing this far and Alistair would be making too much noise… _Stone_, I wonder. Who could it be?" Dog barked once then wriggled forward to greet the intruder happily.

"Guilty as charged," she heard, and Zevran edged into the backroom, pulling at his cloak to reveal his face. "Oh, and you are deliciously dressed too. All this way for a tattoo? If I had known, I would've come sooner," and he made a half-pretence of leering. "What a delightful way to greet me, my dear."

Missa propped her head on her hands and looked her lover over. The gesture revealed her breasts briefly and his leer cracked into a grin. "You're a fool for coming this far, Zevran. I'm surprised you're upright and your clothes are still on, Dust Town loves greeting surfacers that way."

"Alas, I live and am clothed." He peered at the work Alimar was doing on her back, and smiled appreciatively. Missa was pushed flat on her stomach again and the merchant carried on his work.

"You going to watch sitting down over there, cloudhead. I ain't putting a show on here," the merchant said gruffly.

"Cloudhead? What a _delightful_ turn of phrase. And I believe that the charming woman there under your hands is all the entertainment I need in such a state. Trust me on the matter," Zevran replied smoothly. Carefully he folded his cloak over his arms and sat down on the stool by the door with a flourish.

She buried her head back in her hands and ignored his words, paying no attention to his current attempt at a spectacle. "Shush and be good, before I throw you out on the street."

Alimar worked in silence then, the presence of Zevran drying up any effort at a conversation, no matter how dull. He tapped her on the shoulder and she yawned briefly, unaware she had dozed off. "Done, duster. Get out of my store, I got work to do." Missa paid Alimar pretty double the payment for her new ink. It was a struggle to put her clothes back on; everything chafed slightly under the bandaged wound of her new tattoo.

Before they all left the store she pulled the cloak around Zevran's face again, covering his ears. "You're the tallest dwarf Dust Town has ever seen," she said wryly.

He grabbed her hands and kissed them briefly as she fussed in disguising him. "I'm sure. Thinnest one, too."

She thought of the starving she has seen as a kid, those too poor even for food. "Maybe not. Come on, I'll escort you back."

Zevran noticed her quiet words and made to follow her, sticking the shadows and dirt from the buildings. "You are not done here?"

She stopped briefly and pulled her own cloak around her. "No. Keep to the sides, don't exactly want to advertise."

"I am not going. It makes sense we stick together, no? I'm too frightened to venture out here alone, my dear. I'm terribly scared, you know," he grinned, refusing to leave her alone.

Angrily Missa ran a hand through her hair, ignoring the pinch of her new ink from her shoulder. "Fucking great," she muttered. "I'm trying to be scout around quietly, and a sodding dog and an elf are at my heels making it worse."

"Why?" He asked, following her through the streets easily. When she didn't answer, he smirked. "I have information you may want to hear," he said in an undertone. Missa looked over her shoulder and pulled him into a broken doorway to hide them both, while Dog sniffing around at the periphery.

"Make it quick," and she refused to face him, eyes darting across the street warily.

"The city guards will no longer patrol here anymore, this _mafiusi _Carta of yours... some woman named Jarvia sees to that. And I spoke to a very reticent dwarf by the name of Vasiec, a man of Harrowmont. He was following you from the inn we stay in; I think perhaps it might be wise we change where we sleep now, no? You are being watched, Warden. I would be more careful, were I you."

She processed the information with a frown. "Interesting. I won't ask how you know this," she said carefully. "But Dust Town is in shit street more then I thought."

Missa pulled him down as a drunken pair of girls staggered across the street singing, barely wearing their clothes. "Does it matter, if I may be so bold to say? I mean, your sister and mother are in the Diamond Quarter, as we have discovered. Is there anything left for you here anymore?"

Quietly she she pulled away from Zevran then, jaw tight. "It's not that, it's business. Go back, Zevran. I'll be back at the inn soon."

"Oh?" Carefully he lifted her chin, her dark eyes black and glimmering with a quiet rage. Briefly they glanced at each other and she shoved him then, putting up her defences once more. "What could tie you here still, Warden? Why do you bother?"

"Just go. Please." This time she implored, voice raw. There was a part she refused to show him, and this was it.

"Missa-"

"_Please_." He edged away from her then, hearing the bleeding tones of her plead. Politely he bowed once and she watched as he disappeared into the shadows. Dog whined at her feet and she ignored him finally heading back into the depths of her old neighbourhood.

* * *

Missa had visited Leske's old place, she had to. While she knew beforehand that he wouldn't be there, she had to make sure. Why she was walking along the streets back to her old neighbourhood she couldn't explain rationally, however. It was a drive, one predetermined foot in front of the other, and partly she resented it for allowing her to wallow in old memories again.

The old slum home she shared with her sister and mother smelt of urine and dirt, barely bordered up and protected. Missa shoved the door open with a booted foot, still uneasy. While she was convinced it was uninhabited, there was some kind of visceral presence still, a perturbed ghost that mixed with the spaces she'd lived in. She could not put her finger on it, but walked in regardless, apprehensive at what was throttling her fear.

What she called 'Dust Town removal services' had visited and stripped her former residence of most of the furniture; even the granite stab of the hearth had been taken, anything that could be used removed. She went to her old, bare bed and sat on the edge; it was apparently too heavy to move, but the mattress and most of the granite slats had been pilfered.

Missa looked around and remembered. There was where her Mother cracked her head open. There was where Rica had stood pale and numb after her first night as a whore. There was the chair -now broken neatly in half- where her mother had sat most nights, rotting her insides with booze. There was the basin where she washed every night for twenty years to remove the dirt of Dust Town, standing still.

Suddenly remembering something, she stiffly rose from her makeshift seat and headed over to the basin. Getting on her hands and knees she pulled aside a loose brick at the base, smiling as it came loose. Dog padded over and nosed her, and irritably she pushed him away.

Carefully she pulled her hands into the gap and pulled out am old bottle of moss wine she hid from her Mother. Putting it to one side she reached in again and a shapeless bag made of nugskin followed soon after, covered in the dust of the floor. Tentatively she opened it and a few coins of silver fell out, her lifesavings at the time.

A chipped soapstone figurine of a bronto joined the coins on the floor, the horn missing. Her Father had made it before he left her as a toddler; she remembered there was a collection of animals he had carved, the bronto being the lone survivor. Rica made her hide most of them from their Mother as they made her mad at the time, a visual reminder of what was lost.

She picked up the bottle of lichen wine distantly and shoved the trinket in her pocket, finally leaving Dust Town. She had a suspicion where Leske was and did not blame him, despite her gut twisting in guilt at what the Carta was now. He was either there or dead, and Missa preferred the former.

So she did was she usually did, and put it in a place where she would deal with later, wondering if she'd even bother facing her old salroka again.

* * *

Missa managed to go to her room at the inn quietly, despite her appearance. The bruise around her eye ached and she rubbed a strong-smelling poultice Wynne had made into it, sighing in relief as the pain lessened.

The bottle of cheap lichen wine she rescued from her old home was on the table. She uncorked the bottle slightly, then gagged at the stench hit her nostrils. Still disgusting.

Missa did not know how long she had it in her hands before Zevran appeared at her side, a whisper of a shadow. Was he always there, waiting? "I thought you did not touch alcohol?" he asked. Silkily he sat opposite her in a rustle of leather and took a sniff from opened drink, wincing at the smell.

"Sometimes I think about it. Especially when I've had a shitty day," she replied frankly, not even questioning his presence.

She brought the bottle to her lips, almost tasting the liquid. Instead she pushed it away, trying to hide her sudden trembling of her hands under the table. "What would happen if you did?" He asked. Zevran avoiding looking at her and wiped the table clean of dust, movements slow and rhythmic.

"Why does anyone drink?" She deflected. She looked up briefly from her own gaze and saw his downcast expression, checking to see if there was pity there.

"Myself?" He asked, and she half shrugged, waiting for him to answer his question. "It is rude to drink alone, and I have used it in the past as a way of loosening tongues. It brings forth a certain… laxness of atmosphere, and impairs senses. And as a Crow, it creates an exploitable imbalance. That is useful, shall we say."

"Imbalance," she parroted bitterly. "Huh. Sounds about right."

He pulled the bottle away from her grasp on the pretence of studying the peeling, badly printed label. "Why do you not drink anymore?" He asked.

She snorted, then pushed herself away from the table. "Why does anybody stop?" She said, averting the line of questioning back to him. He smiled slightly and almost shrugged.

The sounds of the Commons overtook their silence, and Missa pulled into herself, shoulders drooping suddenly when he spoke again. "Many reasons, my dear. To some people, drink is all they have."

At those words, she laughed once, thinking of her Mother. "Maybe it's better then nothing."

"To others they realise it is not quite the escape they were looking for. After all, drink changes you. It can make even the purest of souls dance naked on a table," Zevran continued. "Or not, perhaps. Sometimes drink is like a Fade demon itself, and can turn you into an abomination... Or so I am told. I _have_ seen it first hand in others, however. What it can do, and the trail of destruction it can leave."

"Fade demons," she said quietly, thinking of the many magical things she'd seen so far. "Yeah, I suppose," she whispered.

"I have seen meek, mild men turn on their friends and family because of drink. Some have no control of their actions, as it changes them. In most I will say it is debatable, however, and that the drink merely freed a monster already there and used as an excuse." There was silence again, and this time Zevran looked up to watch her.

He realised then his words were hitting her hard. Zevran could see her stand up straighter, almost expecting a punch. "Right," was all she managed.

"Missa, if I may-" He started to say, but her hollow gaze silenced the elf, and she moved away from him.

"I don't drink anymore because of _imbalance_, as you so poetically put," she said quietly. Despite her tranquil tone, it was the loudest thing in the room.

He paused before speaking, mindful of his next words. "Knowing the weakness is half the battle."

Missa looked out the tiny slit of the room that made the window, trying to stop herself from hitting something. She could not see him now, and that made it easier to speak. "I always used to say that if I went out drinking I'd either end up in a tumble or a fight, maybe even both. I turn violent, I guess. I didn't mind waking up in strange beds and on floors, because at least… At least it wasn't the worse option of the night."

Zevran walked up behind her. "You do both admirably without the need of anything else in your system, I must say. Why would you want to dull your senses and ruin the effect?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and it was just sexual enough from being a gesture of comfort.

She still leant into it, shocked out how quickly it took for her to seek his touch so readily. "Sometimes you want to forget," she murmured quietly. His hands wandered down to her thighs and back again, and Missa found herself moving to give him better access.

"Then let me find another way for you," he whispered into her ear. She turned around and placed her lips against his, and Zevran responded roughly, pushing her flush against him.

"It's still there, though." She said into his shoulder. He kissed her neck and pulled her towards the bed, insistent and firm. She followed willingly and he drew her into an embrace again, hands continuing their trail along the curves of her body.

"What is?" He said, running a finger from her forehead to her cleavage. She shuddered and allowed herself to give into the delirium.

"The need to forget myself."

"Ah, sweet delirium. I can offer my services there," he replied, amused at how easy the words were.

Missa found herself laughing, then wanted more then anything for him to do so. "Oh?" She countered, pushing the hair out of her eyes. He started to loosen the ties of her armour slowly, aware of the new tattoo on her shoulder.

"No talking, _il mio dolce brasca_. "

"Brosca brasca," she murmured in a smile again, leaning forward into him and biting her lip. Missa was trying not to think of wayward salrokas, carved brontos and drunk mothers, a need to let go of the tight hold that threatened to overspill her stupid emotions.

They had no place, not here in Orzammar. Zevran carried on removing her armour, kissing bare skin when he saw it, mumbling something. She caught the last snatches of a poem, and she snorted in laughter. "_Songs of sighs beside my head, songs of nails dug in my back… Songs of thee come to my bed_."

He looked up from between her legs and grinned, a wicked eyebrow raised. She laughed again. "What was that?" She said distantly, eyelids closed.

Carefully a line was kissed in the inside of her thigh. "Alas. I try to show you some culture and you throw it back in my face. A mark recited that to me… Before I killed her, of course. Do you like it?"

"Are you serious?"

"Naturally." He leant over to kiss her other thigh, and she went quiet on him again. "Are you distracted enough, my dear?" He asked her.

She leant back to look the ceiling with a hand in her hair, then back to him. Zevran wondered if his misread the moment, and gently placed a hand on her leg. When Missa smiled again, he moved up to face her, encouraged by the way she arched her back and sighed.

As they lay in the afterglow of their coupling, Zevran watched with some satisfaction as she panted against his neck, limbs still tangled with his. Gently he kissed her forehead gently, rolling away so he was on his side. Missa almost whimpered at the loss of him and hooked a leg over his thigh, aching still. They both knew there would be a second time soon, touches still searching and needy.

Some ghostly pain returned her to brooding, however. He ran his hands down her back, mindful of the newly inked designs there. He knew she was retreating into herself again, and that the sex was only a temporary diversion. "Crab bucket," he said suddenly, tracing lines on one of her arms.

She pulled out of his embrace slightly to fix him a look. "You know, talking about crabs with someone I just had sex with isn't exactly on my list of what I want to hear right now…" Missa spent long enough on the surface to know what a crab _was_, and hoped he was referring to the water-dwelling kind.

Zevran laughed and held out his hands in submission. "No, no. I'll admit, it is a strange thing to say, considering. It is a phrase, so to speak. You have not heard of it before? It reminded me of your Dust Town today, when we visited earlier."

"Dust Town reminded you of crabs?" She replied, a look of disbelief on her face. He stared at her thoughtfully, a gaze she recognised before, his tawny eyes suddenly knowing and clear.

Missa leant back into his arms and waited for him to speak, knowing he wanted to explain himself further. He placed a kiss on a particular tattoo design he always liked on her shoulder before talking again. "In Antiva City by the docks, the fish merchants know never to put a lone crab in a bucket, because the little bastards would always escape. Even if there is a lid, a net… They are smart enough and strong enough to find a way out of it."

She laughed into his shoulder. "Dusters are crabs, then? Stone knows I've escaped out of a few traps in my time."

He lifted her chin and so she would face him. "Ah, you see. But the merchants, they know how to make sure a crab never escapes. You simply put them in a bucket with their own kind, and they will never escape, ever. Because as soon as one tries to, the others will pull him back down with their vicious little claws."

The last of his words hit her directly in the chest like a hammer. She clenched her jaw, angry suddenly. "It's not like that," she said, but there was a catch in her voice.

"Oh? Then what was is like, then, today?" She pushed him away and rolled over, back to him suddenly. "Did you expect a party? A welcome home, perhaps?" He said the words quietly, but he could've shouted them due to the way she was reacting. "You were certainly greeted with, what was it you said? Ah, '_The Dust Town way_.'"

She swung over the bed and reached for her clothes, putting them on with a barely concealed look of loathing. "You don't understand. You're not a dwarf."

"You're right, I am not. But if you mean to tell me you are happy born knowing your place in this caste system, then… Why are you here? Why did you visit your old haunts?"

Missa was so angry that she felt bile rise in her throat. With barely a look at him she put her clothes back on, picking up the paperwork Vartag gave her by the table. The bottle of lichen wine mocked her and her hand itched to pick it up. Irritably she dumped it in the lavastone bucket by the hearth instead, angry at her sudden weakness.

"Going out to Tapster's to find me a deshyr. I'll see you later."

"_Matto! Sciocco, brasca matto_…" he cursed as she closed the door quietly, angry at both her stunted attempts at dealing with emotions and the fact he bothered opening his mouth. Zevran knew it would lead him nowhere if he shadowed her once more; he refused to be the lapdog at her heels, following her without question. Not right now.

* * *

**Author's Note:** apologies for lapse in update, please forgive my snail-like progress! As always, reviews are awesome. Thank you to Aimo and Marinelli for the art of Missa, it's lovely and kept me writing! Please check the website link on my profile for links of the images, slowly gathering all the great Missa Brosca/Zevran art people have done for me, and my my own scribblish attempts also.


	19. I Was Wrong

It was the third time since she arrived that she had been to Tapster's, this time on official business.

The old, sleazy inn had somehow become fashionable with a few of the castes who wanted to be seen 'slumming it,' the nobles and warriors who came for -allegedly- the beer and the atmosphere treating it like an insider's joke. Lord Helmi, desyhr of House Helmi, was one of these, and the curt barmaid who took one look at Missa's brand pointed him out to her irritably.

Missa walked through the smoky room and a familiar a flash of blonde caught her eye. Looking fully she realised it was Lina, her ex-lover pointedly ignoring her and focusing her entire attention to whoever she was talking to in her booth, a polite smile on her face.

She shrugged at that inwardly. If Lina wanted to avoid her, she would play fair. Instead she walked up the man she came here for and tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Lord Helmi?" She said, sitting down at his table uninvited.

"Yes?" He replied, suspicious. Missa reached into her pocket and pulled out the promissory notes and put them on the table. "Oh. More bribery? Interesting. You're here as, what…?"

"I'm Missa of the Grey Wardens."

Carefully he picked up the documents and read them, working out the double promise quickly. "Well this is interesting. And complicated. And… I may need more beer. Hang on." He gestured for the barmaid and two mugs were placed on the table. Helmi took a large gulp out of one and carried on. "I assume you work for Bhelen?"

"In a way. I am lending my support."

Lord Helmi frowned slightly, itching his chin. "Right. Why?"

She trailed a finger in the pool of spilt ale, making a pattern distantly. "You're not the first to ask me that."

"He's an... enigmatic man. Wouldn't trust him with my sisters, shall we say. But if the rumours are true he steps out with a casteless girl, which is pretty interesting."

"Interesting?" She asked neutrally, trying not to think of Rica.

"Yeah. About time the castes loosened up a bit, don't you think? Not many people of my status would even talk to someone below their supposed station, of course."

"It's tradition," Missa said distantly, looking away then.

"You care for the casteless?"

She raised her eyebrow at that. "What do you mean?"

The deshyr gestured at her brand as his answer. "You don't?"

It was such a loaded question. "Of course I care," she said, swallowing her sudden anger. "I am what this city made me."

Thoughtfully the deshyr took a sip from his mug. "And you support Bhelen?"

"Yes," she replied shortly. "I do. This city needs a change, wouldn't you agree? Something new to shake it up."

Lord Helmi laughed cynically, then downed him drink. "You'll make a good desyhr, Warden. I can tell. You've already got the speech patterns right."

She raised her eyebrow again, wondering what he meant. "Oh really?"

"You've just told me nothing in a whole lot of something."

She tapped the table with her fingers and laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Most wouldn't," Lord Helmi said cryptically. Rising he got up with a stretch, giving back the documents to her. "Well, I've got to tell my family now. And deal with my Mother, which is going to be fun."

She rose to meet him and held her hand open in a warrior's gesture. The deshyr smiled genuinely then, and mirrored her actions. "_Atrast vala_, Warden."

"Thanks," she said, returning his smile. Here was the first noble not to treat her like dirt. "You know what? You're the only deshyr I've met today who I didn't want to strangle."

He laughed again, genuinely pleased. "Now that I will take as a compliment," and nodded once to her, finally pulling away.

Missa didn't want to return to her bed and deal with Zevran, so she sat in Tapster's still. She didn't know how long she waited until a pair of hands put themselves over her eyes, and she recognised the perfume immediately. "Lina," she said, sighing heavily. "What do you want?"

Lina was drunk and half collapsed into her lap, arms wrapping themselves around her neck roughly. A kiss was placed on her lips and Missa rose suddenly, too much intimacy for her liking. Lina had other ideas and grabbed her again. "You smell _interesting_," she said. Missa picked up the hands wandering in places they shouldn't and pushed her away again.

"Don't start," she said, and began to walk away. Her ex-lover grabbed her for the third time and this time Missa reacted, shoving the other woman against the wall. "Enough," she hissed, too annoyed to deal with this now.

"You smell of a man, I can tell."

Missa backed away slowly, too tired to even bother fighting back. "Lina…" she said wearily. The Noble Hunter pulled into herself, smile gone, just as tired as she.

"I missed you, Miss."

"I doubt that," and Missa rubbed her eyes, aware she probably looked like bronto dung.

"My brother died, you know. Just after you left." It was so out of the blue that Lina even shocked herself saying it. "He died in the ventilation shafts. Lack of air, they said. They didn't- they didn't give me his body, said it was too much trouble to find it."

"I'm sorry, Lina." Unsure what to do, Missa tentatively put a hand on other woman's shoulder. Awkwardly she removed it when she didn't move, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. After awhile, she spoke again. "What will you do?"

"Get pregnant, hopefully. Not for lack of trying. If not I'll… I'll think of something. I'll survive."

She nodded at that. "That's all you can do. Take care of yourself, Lina. I hope that… You do well."

As she walked away, Lina called her back. "I was wrong, Miss."

"About?" Carefully she swung on her heel, unsure what she was going to say.

"About you. You're right, you see. You're not a duster anymore. I was… wrong." Missa swallowed the lump in her throat awkwardly and stood straighter, clenching her jaw tight.

"Stone keep you, Lin." And Missa meant it.

* * *

Missa made it just in time for the inn's staff to put the breakfast things out, and sat down at a free table to help herself to food. Aware she was being watched she looked up and saw Zevran, hair damp from his morning wash, watch her very carefully.

Quietly he sat opposite her and helped himself to a piece of bread. "I apologise for speaking out of turn earlier, my Warden." With a hand on his chest he bowed, the merest of smiles on his face.

She thought of his words and how they had hit her in the chest, too painful to think about. "Don't be," was all she managed, Lina's last words to her mingling with his. She could not cope with an apology, and still avoided his gaze.

"Well now, what are your plans today?"

Thinking that they were being observed, she slipped out a handful of coins from her purse and slid them across the table. "Find us another inn. One that seems less watched then this," she said in a murmur only they could hear.

Zevran counted out the coins. Three sovereigns. With a smirk he pocketed them, wondering why life had a way of repeating itself. "I'm sure I can cope with that," he replied neutrally, refusing to show his annoyance.

"There's more."

"Oh?"

She took a mouthful of her bread before speaking. "Seems you have an ear for what's going on. Go to the Provings; take the others if you have to. Listen to what's being said. Act the dumb sightseer. People will tell you things around here they won't me, because of…" _Because of the brand on my face_, she wanted to finish, but didn't. "Well."

They sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak. Very carefully Zevran edged his fingers to her hand, almost holding it, but was interrupted by Morrigan walking up to their table. The pair of them leant away then, back into their own personal space.

It did not take long for the rest to join them, then, finally waking up. Leliana practically skipped up to Missa and sat next to her, all smiles and energy. "Morning!" Trilled the bard, Wynne following after, blearily reaching for a mug of tea. "Ah ha! If it is even morning. Is it? I do not know. But there is breakfast, and that means morning. Right?" Leliana continued. Missa resisted the urge to growl in annoyance.

"Right," Missa agreed wryly. She did not have time to eat, however, as the Bard was chewing her lip slightly, blue eyes quizzical. She wanted to talk, and Missa sighed. "Yes, Leliana?"

"There is a dwarf here, in the Commons. I spoke to him yesterday."

"Good for you," she replied derisively.

"Well, a particular dwarf. A Brother Burkel. He… Wants to set up a Chantry here. In Orzammar. But he needs help."

Missa snorted once and sipped water from her mug. "Are you serious?" She asked. Leliana's earnest face answered her question. "That's going to go down well with the Shaperate. I can tell."

Leliana pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled at her again. "He needs help, you see. A bit of, how you say, power behind his cause. The Grey Wardens could be that help, Burkel says."

Alistair looked up from his hugely built sandwich and laughed. "There's a surprise."

The solution to the problem was easy. "The answer's no," Missa said shortly. "I'm not doing it."

Wynne took one look between them and pursed her lips. "I think you should reconsider, Warden," the older mage stated.

"No," was the short answer again. She tried to go back to her breakfast, but everyone was looking at her. "What? What do you all want?" She snapped, aware she really needed to get some more sleep later on tonight.

"How can you deny this?" Leliana asked passionately. "Brother Burkel, he is a good man."

"I'm sure he is," Missa muttered.

"Then what is the problem? We go to this Shaperate, we argue his cause-"

"No," she denied again, rubbing her temples distantly. She was too tired to elaborate, and really did not want to face the Shaper's attitude again anytime soon.

"But _why_?" The Bard needled. Missa looked up and scowled.

Alistair took one look at her and decided to intervene, but Morrigan spoke up first. "Must we listen to Chantry nonsense here, of all places? I thought even in the deepest of holes we'd escape the droning," the witch said in a shudder.

At her own words Morrigan took in the low-slung ceilings and dark walls, suddenly claustrophobic; she did not suit Orzammar at all, and went to stand outside with Shale and Sten in silence, where at least the roof was higher.

"She has a point, Missa," Alistair finally said. "Leliana I mean, not _her. _If we petition this it gives people here a choice. They can decide if they want to go to the Chantry, no one is forcing them. It's fair," confused at his friend's sudden stubborn obstinacy at the situation.

Missa made a sound of frustration and waved her hands irritably. "Enough. I refuse to represent the Chantry here. If all of you are so impassioned about it, do it yourself. Because I'm not."

"But we're not Grey Wardens," Wynne replied quietly. "It is your power that has leverage here. We are merely the bystanders."

"Do you really hate the Chantry so much?" The Bard asked softly, hurt. "All they have done, what they represented… We visited the temple of Andraste _Herself_, does this mean nothing to you? You saw the power the ashes did for the Arl-"

"I am not having a debate about this, Leliana. Do not provoke me."

"I… Provoke? I merely am trying for you to see that-"

"_Enough_." Missa rose, shoving the dried meat into a fold of lye bread. "Alistair, we have to find Lady Dace. Come on."

"We? Right," he stood up, wolfing down the last of his breakfast. "I'm sure you'll need my help. Since apparently you're doing so well without us all, as you keep on saying."

Leliana sat by the table, frowning. Missa sighed at the tableau presented to her by her companions, disappointment vivid and obvious. She clenched her fists in anger. "My offer still stands, you know," she said in Leliana's direction.

"Excuse me?" The bard asked, blue eyes curious.

"You're a persuasive woman, Leli_. _I'm sure you could charm the Shaper without my help." Missa turned on her heel and left before she could hear what they had to say, Alistair quickly catching up.

"How do you even tell time in this place?" Alistair said in a yawn, knowing the matter of Brother Burkel was dropped with her. "I don't even know… Maker, what is it like on the surface now? Is it daytime?"

Missa shrugged and reached for the water bottle from her belt. "You just know. And it's… Past dawn, I'd say."

"Helpful, no really," he replied sardonically, wiping the sleepy dust from his eyes.

She took a mouthful of her breakfast before speaking. "Look, it's easy, alright? You heard the bells?"

"Bells? _That_ racket? Yeah. Reminds me of being back at the Chantry. Everything was done for bells. Bells for breakfast, bells for lessons, bells for prayer -so many bells for prayer- Matins bell meant… Oh! I get you. Funny, I never made the connection to that and here."

Missa bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. "Right. Well, similar. Sort of. Orzammar is measured by the Proving Bells. It's just gone second bell, which is breakfast really. The merchants here and the shopkeepers actually keep to surface time, makes it easier for trading. But most of the city runs by the bells."

"Got it," Alistair said firmly.

"Wonders will never cease," she heard Morrigan sarcastically mutter, and the three of them headed to the Diamond Quarter to find Lady Dace, Dog dancing at their heels. Missa shrugged at the witch trailing along, but did not turn her away.

The Assembly was gathering itself ready for a day's worth of discussions, and already the deshyrs were fighting in the streets. The guards had been called and two stubborn parties pulled apart, and Missa scanned the crowds for the particular noblewoman they came here for.

Going by the guard's description of "built like a bronto chewing a cave tick and an arse like a sack of coal," Missa found her. As she approached with notes in hand, however, she instantly was sneered at.

"My sons and myself have no use for a woman of your ...standards. Be gone." The older woman shooed her away with her hands, a disgusted look on her face as she returned to watching the mild fracas the deshyrs were causing.

"Excuse me?" Missa replied loudly, eyebrow raised. _Standards?_

Lady Dace sighed. "You dust-brained brands…" She replied caustically, then proceeded to patronise her, like she was talking to a child. "My sons have no use for Noble Hunters. I don't care how much you paid to be here today, go away."

Missa's reaction was to laugh, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Wondering what exactly about her armour screamed whore, she tried again. "I'm not hunting."

Lady Dace flustered once, but refused to back down. "If you're not a Noble Hunter, then, what do you want?" Missa stared her down, furious. What showed in her face was enough for the older woman to look over her shoulder, suddenly worried. "If I scream, guards will come."

Morrigan smirked, finding the whole thing amusing. "Oh, this is delightful fun."

A sneer quietly crept up Missa's face. It was a dangerous look, and she refused to look away. "I think not, Lady," she said quietly. "Because the guards are busy, at the moment. The Assembly has seen to that, and no one is going to hear you scream."

"How dare you, brand! If my Father hears of this-" Missa walked forward barely an inch, her hands outspread. It was apparently threatening enough. Lady Dace stumbled back and tripped over her own skirts, falling inelegantly on her bottom. Missa tried to wipe the smile off of her face, but was failing miserably.

"How rude of me, I'm terribly sorry I slighted you," she replied, offering her hand to help the older woman up. "Such a misunderstanding, my fault for not properly introducing myself! My name is Missa, of the Grey Wardens. But I think you already know that, don't you?"

Lady Dace refused her help and dusted herself off, head held high. "What do you want, _Warden_?"

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, flustered. "We threaten old ladies now? Er, not that you're old… Exactly," he said in the direction of Lady Dace. "What I meant was, well- what my esteemed fellow Grey Warden is trying to get at is that we're here on behalf of Prince Bhelen." Alistair breathed in and stood straighter.

Missa wordlessly reached into her jerkin and pulled out the documents, shoving them against Alistair's breastplate. It was about time he started to take part in their business, and she knew that Lady Dace was too harangued by her scare to tolerate any line of negotiation from her. "My brother here will explain," she said wryly, and waited for Alistair to continue.

"Harrowmont has been cheating you," Alistair managed to choke out, awkwardly realising what he had to do. "These papers say so, anyway. Look," and nervously he showed them. Lady Dace took the documents suspiciously and fixed them both a glare. Missa pointedly avoided her gaze and watched the coal smoke from the Commons creep up to the roof of Orzammar, shoulder butted against the gold-lined granite of the building.

To her credit Lady Dace read the promissory notes thoroughly, frowning slightly. "It seems in order, I suppose. I'm sure Bhelen found them while helping elderly Shapers with their books, I'm sure."

Carefully Missa looked through her lashes at the other woman, waiting for the catch. "Will you change your vote?" She asked bluntly.

"While I am deshyr of our house, my Father has the last word in such matters."

Alistair breathed in reply. "Great! That's great."

"And where is your Father?" Missa replied.

Lady Dace smirked. "Aeducan Thaig. You know, the Deep Roads."

Missa pushed herself off the wall and walked up to the noble again. Lady Dace backed away, but this time didn't fall. "But you're a deshyr," she said bluntly, dark eyes sparking once more in anger. Alistair put an arm in front of her and Missa reluctantly backed away.

"That I am, but my Father's word has more authority then mine."

"Am I to get this right then," Morrigan said, finally speaking up her opinion. "We are to be going into the Deep Roads on a wild chase to find her Father? And you believe this?"

Lady Dace fixed the witch with a cool stare, nose in the air. "As if a surfacer would know how things are done down here," she sneered.

Fire crackled around Morrigan's hands as the witch made a show of examining her nails. "I may not know the intricacies of dwarven politics -or frankly care, for that matter- but I know what you are."

"Takes ones to know one," Alistair muttered and Morrigan ignored him, flexing her hands with a smile. Missa was glad she did not reply, thankful the 'children' weren't bickering again.

"Regardless of what you think, I'm merely the mouthpiece of our house. Find my Father, find your answer."

They were being politely shoved into the lava, she knew it. As Missa put her hands on her hips to try and work out what to say, Alistair spoke up again. "Fine. We will travel into the Roads… It's kind of what Wardens do, anyhow. We'll find your Father and get him to agree with what you say, and we'll return. How far is Aeducan thaig in?"

Lady Dace gathered herself to her full height, righting herself once more. "I'm told half a day's journey. If you are done haranguing me in such a manner, I have things to do." Carefully Lady Dace removed her ring from her little finger, ignoring Missa and Morrigan. She dropped the heavy signet hoop with barely a backwards glance and Alistair just managed to catch it. "This will get you into the Roads."

"Thank you, your ladyship," Alistair barely said, bowing nobly to the departing deshyr.

"Vile, vile bronto," Missa said, hitting the wall as Lady Dace walked out of view. "She's playing us."

"You made me lie," Alistair replied, ignoring her. "I am lying. For your family."

She narrowed her eyes at that. "Bhelen is not family."

Alistair rubbed a hand across his forehead, annoyed. "Well, whatever he is to your sister. Missa, I know you think he's best for this place, but don't you think that _maybe _you're letting your family loyalty blind you to this?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Why do you care, Alistair?" Missa looked sideways at the witch, wondering where she was going with her comment. "I mean, such family loyalty is a foreign concept to you, is it not?"

"What do you mean?" The ex-templar replied, suddenly very dubious.

The witch gave a little laugh before she continued. "Your Father left you after impregnating your Mother, and the man who brought you up dumped you in the stables. I'm sure your experiences on family loyalty are vast and varied, yes? No wonder you have a skewered view of the word."

Alistair practically spat his next words back into her face. "Let's talk about your _Mother_, Morrigan. Let's see how much loyalty you know. You know, the one that's dead, thanks to you. Shall we talk about family devotion there?"

"Enough," Missa said wearily. Silently the pair of them agreed to her request, but it did not stop the silent glaring.

Briefly they returned to their inn to find that Zevran had moved them all to the Silent Sister, using his charm to find them rooms in a tavern that didn't even have them in the first place.

As she was packing her bags for the journey to the Deep Roads, Wynne approached her. "Will I be accompanying you?" The mage asked shortly.

Missa frowned. "It's okay, Wynne. It's not even that deep into the Roads, just to Aeducan thaig. Uh…" She had no idea what to say to her, or even the rest of the companions that travelled here with her most days. They were a loose end that could not settle in her city, as isolated as she in being here. "Keep Leliana out of trouble, yeah? The Chantry thing won't end well." The older woman nodded regally once and left, taking her orders without question.

Zevran grabbed her arm on the way out, hesitant as her what to say. She looked up at him hollowly, and it was enough. Silently she walked away with her expedition crew at her back, refusing to look behind her. He would not be going with them, for a reason she couldn't quite explain to herself just yet.

* * *

The Deep Roads were dark, the corruption obvious even outside the guarded gates of Orzammar.

Missa turned on her heel to see Morrigan staring up at the fractured beam of the tunnel, face turned towards the shaft of light, open and rapt. Dust swirled around her and Missa felt sorry for her friend the witch of the wilds, a woman missing the sky and open air of what she knew.

"It's a trick you know,"she said, and Morrigan finally snapped out of it, looking at her then. "The light, I mean. It makes you think we're close to the surface, but we're not. We must be a good twenty miles down."

"Comforting, Warden," she replied, a sneer to her voice.

"Light bounces down and gets trapped. It's an odd thing," Missa added. "I'd thought you want to know, so you would not be fooled by trickery."

Deeper they went, past the papery, dusty tombs of her people, corrupted by the taint and reach of darkspawn even so close to the surface. The noise grew so loud that Missa put her head in her hands, trying to right herself from the constant chatter. She looked sideways at Alistair and saw his face whiten, just as pale and drawn. "Warden?" Morrigan asked, her turn at apprehension.

"Give me a moment."

There was so much noise. In Orzammar she had not been sleeping, so close to the Deep Roads, but there Missa could distant the sounds through distractions. Here, however, the wall of sound in her head was constant and needling, a reminder of what she was. "Duncan said all Wardens learn to channel it, like the dreams," Alistair said faintly. "But when you approach your Calling it gets worse, more frequent."

It was like a sharp, constant drill in her skull. She tried to push it to a place and think of other things. Images came to her mind, her sister's warmth, the surface air, Zevran's eyes, Lina's hair… A tangled mess of visual memories that was impossible to maintain, however hard she tried to pin them down.

She thought of the most awe-inspiring thing she could think of, the first time she saw stars with Duncan on the road to Ostagar. She imagined the pricks of light shining behind her eyes, a bed of diamonds and jewels, and she found her breathing calming down finally.

Missa would not tell anyone what it is she used to still her thoughts; it was so distinctly undwarven. A part of her was thankful she at least had something to stop the noise in her head, if only for a few moment's rest. "Let's eat while we're here," she said shortly, and pulled out the rations from her bag.

Alistair closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, ignoring the pair of them and the offer of food. Missa could see he was trying to right himself, dealing with the noise in his own way.

"I see Zevran is not with us," Morrigan said hesitantly, perhaps as a distraction. There was a questioning edge to her voice; she was hinting ay something.

"Say whatever you're getting at," Missa said brusquely, rubbing at her tired eyes. "I can't be bothered to play cat's paw with you."

"Do you not think that his …services he offers come with this oath of his?"

Alistair made a disgusted sound and walked away noisily in his armour, heading to the end of the tunnel. He wanted no part in the conversation, and joined her mabari and Shale in guarding sentry.

"What do you mean?"

"He goes on about his prowess and his skills, I oft wondered if he thought offering them was part of the deal, but perhaps…"

She could just make out the Witch by the gloom of the roads. Morrigan sat with her arms neatly folded on her stomach, staring into the darkness of the cave opening. Missa was suddenly so very angry at everyone involved in the mess, unsure what to say. "What did you think he did, get it up out of what, pity? Obligation?"

"Perhaps not, but certainly wily of him to, shall we say, sweeten the deal with one so eager as yourself. Makes the chains chafe less in their bondage."

"It's not a prison. I'm not keeping him here," irritably Missa stretched her arms, giving up all pretence of a rest.

Morrigan turned and face her, golden eyes glittering suddenly even in the dimness of where they were. "Do not fall for this assassin. It's a game he knows well, I can tell. This oath is worth no more then restless dust, or some such phrase you dwarven types are fond of using."

It was an odd thing to say to her, of all people. "I'm not stupid, Morrigan. No one is falling for anything. It's just a tumble. You know?"

The witch pulled her arms closer around her, finally looking away. "Tis an observation. Make of it what you will."

Missa turned to look at her profile then, trying to work the other woman out. She knew the awkward words were coming from a difficult place, but the intention wasn't exactly to snipe at her. "I understand, Morrigan. Really I do. I'll watch my back more carefully."

"II doubt it is your back you are _watching_. But regardless, tis not business what you do."

As rose to her feet, she tried again. "Will you be okay now? I understand your fear about caves and dark places, what with-"

"Of course," the answer was instant and unafraid. Missa smiled at the tone.

"All right then. Let's move on," and she punched Alistair on the arm as she went past.

Her head pinched again, the familiar sting singing vibrantly once more behind her eyes. "Alistair," she said quietly. He pulled out his sword and nodded.

He went in first, shield raised. They were fighting a small pack, but something made her hold back. A lone emissary shot at her from afar and Morrigan somehow managed to contain it, her magic a cage. Missa ran forward and her blades found corrupted flesh, the stench of the taint reaching her nose.

They weren't weak, these darkspawn. Not like the packs on the surface that roamed like animals. Here they were somehow more wily and smart, and Missa realised that they knew that they were on _their _territory, despite years of her people previously living in these tunnels and roads.

Orzammar held some of the last of the remaining _dwarva_ thanks to these monsters. For the first time since she arrived back in her city, Missa felt a surge of patriotism of her kind, desperate to defend the few. The Blight would end, she would show them. She would show them all what a duster could do.

* * *

They found Lord Dace surrounded by deepstalkers, his men overrun. Missa liked the irony of it; they had helped the noble push back the animals, and both sides knew there was an imbalance and debt.

The notes were barely glanced at, and Lord Dace shoved them back into her hands. "If my daughter says so, then I agree." Missa at that point wanted to do very bad things to the lady desyhr in question when she returned, infuriated by the waste of time they just spent. By her reckoning a day had passed in the thaig, and it would be late by the time they slipped back into the city to return to Bhelen's Second.

They all walked back, returning to civilisation with safety in numbers. Missa politely made conversation with Lord Dace about the politics on their kind, trying to gauge the man. He was baffled that a brand was talking to him, but seemed to respect her position as Warden. Missa got the overall impression that Lord Dace cared for House Dace only, and his allegiance with Harrowmont had little to do with his political views but what his family could get out of it.

With a bow the lord left them at the gates. The proving bells rang out nine times, well into the night for the city. She wondered if it was too late to find Vartag, and she headed back to the inn Zevran found them to clean up.

"A bath," Alistair said dreamily. "A bath where I can stretch out."

Missa looked at him sideways, an eybrow raised. "You'll be lucky," she muttered.

"I know," Alistair replied, a little sad. Missa looked up and could see him grinning, and punched him in the arm regardless.

She cleared her throat and wiped at the dirt on her face. "You know, when you're king you can have a bath the size of a dinner table to lie in. And a bevy of beauties to wash your back, or something_. As you're king_." It was a sore spot for her friend, but it was his fault for starting it.

"Oh!" He said sarcastically. "What a brilliant reason, why didn't I think of this before. Sign me up, let's go."

"Don't lie to me, you have thought about it. You could have, like, a hot elf maid, a dwarf with an arse you could serve mead off of _and_ a human with legs up to her neck or something. All there to help you find the soap." The blush he currently was radiating meant he was vividly imagining her words, and she laughed. "Gotcha."

Morrigan stalked off, disgusted with them both. Missa was convinced she heard the witch proclaim them fools before she left, but wasn't entirely sure.

Having no clue where her rooms were and thankful she could not see either Wynne or Leliana to bother her about Chantry nonsense, she slipped into the inn. It was getting late and the bartender glared at them, throwing a set of keys from underneath his bar wordlessly. "Up the stairs," he grunted. It appeared Zevran had smoothed out their arrival, and she wondered how much it all cost.

It appeared she was sharing a poky, dingy room with Morrigan, and Missa shrugged at the randomness of it. As she washed herself briefly in a chipped stone basin, she heard a scream. "Sorry! I didn't mean to- sorry!" Followed after, and she rolled at Alistair's voice somehow reaching through the stone of their room.

Tentatively she reached for her dagger and rose, still in her nightshirt. Morrigan looked up from her position in bed and Missa put a finger to her lips, slipping out the door quietly.

For some reason, the sight of Alistair in only his undergarments wasn't exactly what she was expecting. The scream obviously came from the now departing maid running down the stairs, and she raised an eyebrow at the scene.

It also appeared her salroka was capable of blushing head to toe, noticeable even in the gloom of the lavastones. "Well," she said, raising her dagger up to a less threatening position. "This is interesting. What you doing frightening the staff, Alistair? I know a naked human is rare around these parts, but you're not that ugly."

More doors opened up and Wynne poked her head around the frame, putting on a dressing gown over her robes. "My," was all she managed. Alistair ran back into his own room and frantically pulled his breeches back on, still blushing furiously. "Problem, Warden?" The mage asked Missa.

She shrugged a reply and followed Alistair, only to be greeted with the image of a dwarf stabbed in the back and bleeding out on the floor. Sten wiped his blade clean and nodded at her, dressed in his armour still; Missa knew he slept in it. Zevran waved at her from his position of the bed, daggers in his hands. "Right. Anyone going to explain?"

"An assassin wanted to say hello," Zevran said smoothly. "We had a late night visitor. Alas, not the fun kind. Something about death to Bhelen scum? I did not catch most of it, our Qunari friend here finished him off before I could. He was most insistent in speaking to Alistair, though. I cannot _think _why."

Missa rubbed her forehead. "I'm going back to bed. You can clean it up," she replied, pointing to Alistair."Me? This is my fault?" He spluttered, pulling on a shirt.

"It is now." With a sigh she collapsed back under the covers. The days of lack of sleep finally caught up with her, and she blacked out, unaware of the repercussions of her today's actions, or the fact they were still being watched from afar.


	20. Do Or Die, Duster

She woke up exhausted, then moaned when she realised what happened last night. Getting out of her bed Missa dressed quickly, aware she had slept in. Morrigan was not in the room, and she heard doors open and slam in the inn; it was breakfast time, and she was annoyed with herself for slumbering well past her usual waking hour.

As she walked down the corridor she saw Zevran lean against the wall, waiting for something. Missa stopped and leant on the other side, unsure exactly what to say, still cagey around him. "Good morning, I assume? I cannot see the sun, but I assume it is there. Ah, probably not. It is Ferelden, after all."

"So. What was that all about?" She said, referring to the assassination attempt earlier.

"Hmm?" He murmured, trying to work out her words. "Oh. Last night's visitor? A Harrowmont supporter, it seems. He came to talk to Alistair about changing allegiance. Which is interesting, no?" He tipped his head back and crossed his arms, waiting for her to explode in anger.

"_What_?"

Zevran chuckled quietly. "Yes, I'd rather thought you'd say that. He approached Alistair rather then you, said he'd see reason more."

Missa was furious. How dare they use Alistair against her._ How dare they._ "And where is Alistair now?" She said, every word clipped.

"Sleeping. The boy snores, of course. I had a simply delightful night's sleep, obviously. Despite the view."

She clenched her fists and scowled at the door where Alistair was. "Not anymore he's not."

"You are both the last ones up, by the way. The others have headed to the Commons to eat, apparently Wynne wants to try the local street food for breakfast."

"I have to speak to Alistair."

He nodded at that and pushed himself off the wall. "I shall wait downstairs. I have to speak to the innkeeper for rudely going against our deal, anyhow. I feel terribly slighted, of course. Forgive my incompetence, my dear. I found us an inn that came with cold water, bad food and incompetent assassins."

She shrugged, realising that whatever they did in this city now they would always be watched. "I have a feeling we'll be moving to the palaces today anyway. It might give us a hint of privacy. Or none at all, considering."

Zevran grabbed her elbow before she went past, face impassive. Changing his mind, he quickly shook himself and smiled suddenly, trying to grasp at the right words to say. "Perhaps you could show me that infamous dwarven hospitality while you're there," he said in an undertone, falling back on his lascivious nature out of habit.

Gently she leant into him, breathing in the scent of leather and sandalwood she had come to associate with Zevran now. Aware she had things to do, she aimed a quick kiss on his jaw and slipped through his wandering fingers reluctantly. "Perhaps, if we get the chance between assassination attempts and politics," and she pulled away from her lover finally.

"Ah, how like Antiva. No wonder I'm comfortable here."

She put a hand on the door of Alistair's room and raised an eyebrow. "You have a strange sense of comfort, Arainai."

He aimed a grab at her arse before he went past, practically sauntering down the stairs. "I'll have to show you all the strange comfort I know, _signorina_. I have a feeling you may like it."

Missa shook her head wryly before entering, barely even knocking. Alistair was struggling with his armour, under padding barely laced up. "Don't you knock?" He said curtly, fiddling with the clasp of his pauldron.

Carefully she stood on her tiptoes to help with the fastening, ignoring his snotty tone. "I did."

"Oh. Right, well. Anyway. You could've caught me in my unmentionables. Would be embarrassing for everyone. People would talk, Zevran would get jealous… Too much hassle for everyone."

"I've seen you in your unmentionables before. Last night, as I recall."

He rubbed his forehead irritably. "That was a mess you left me with," he said, glaring at her, gesturing to the hastily cleaned blood stain on the floor.

Missa had absolutely no sympathy for him whatsoever and sat on the nearest unmade bed. "Good."

"Good? How can you say that? We killed someone, I had to deal with the city guards and the innkeeper and… Oh _Maker_, am I in trouble, you think?"

She really doubted it, but shrugged all the same. "What did he want?" She asked, avoiding his question.

Alistair at least looked contrite. "Something about politics."

"I'm sure he really came to talk about politics with you, so late at night at least."

The armour he wore creaked slightly as he shifted on his legs. "Yes, well. He wanted to change our support. Said he was a man of Harrowmont."

"Oh, _our_?" Missa said, picking on the choice of word. "Good to know we stand united on such things."

"Don't you start on that," he said roughly. "I'm still following your orders."

She breathed out slowly and picked over her next words. "If you were put in charge of Orzammar, what would you do? What's the first thing you would do?"

Alistair stopped shifting and paused, eyebrows raised. "Well. I don't know how to answer that without offending you. I mean, I know you're from… Well, you're, I mean you_ were_ a brand, but this city was your home."

Missa laughed loudly. "Oh really. We've gone beyond that, I think. You offending me. So say your worse."

"Fine." He put his hands on the jut of his fauld, still unsure what to say. "I'd abolish the caste system."

She laughed again. "Just like that? Centuries of tradition gone in a finger snap?"

"Well, you asked!"

"I'm not saying I disagree, Alistair. But you met a few deshyrs yesterday. You think they would roll over? That the castes themselves would agree with this?"

He at least thought about her words. "Of course not. It would have to be done progressively. Too sudden and it would be a civil war."

"So do you think," and she repeated her line of thinking for what seemed the fifth time since they arrived, "that_ tradition_ is what this place needs? To keep things ticking over at a nice, even pace?"

The heavy silverite gloves of his gauntlets creaked as he yanked them on. "Look, I know what you're getting at."

"Good."

"But I just think that perhaps neither of them are the right option."

She chuckled and Dog, having found his mistress, jumped on the bed next to her and wagged his tail. "Time is running out. We need our armies, and there needs to be a king. Better the demon you know, isn't that what you surfacers say?"

"Fine! Alright, fine. What do you want me to say now? You're right, I'm wrong?"

Missa grinned, ruffling Dog's ears distantly. "It's a start," and she threw a lumpy cushion at him in retaliation.

He caught it easily and held it, looking her over suddenly. "Seriously though- I do trust you, Just… I don't like how things are done here. It's not right."

"And you think surface politics are easier and less underhanded? Consider Loghain and what he did, and is doing. Seriously, salroka- if you can handle this, then Land's Meet is going to be child's play."

Alistair flexed his hands in irritation, still holding the cushion. "Would you stop going on about that?"

Carefully she shrugged, knowing it was still a sore spot with him. "I asked you a moment ago what you would do if you were in charge here. Imagine being in charge of Ferelden, and the changes you could make. What you could achieve."

He threw the cushion on the bed and ignored her. "I'd make a mess of it, I know I will. Look, I'm not meant to lead. I'm not. You do a better job then me. People listen to you."

There was a catch in his voice, something that gave her hope. She would give him one last try at supporting him in this, then give up. "You won't be alone, in it. I'll be around," she said casually.

The relief he showed was palpable. "Really? You'd… help?"

She shrugged again. "Of course."

Alistair paused, taking in her words carefully. "It's very scary, when you think about it. All that power."

"And what do you think we're doing now? What we're achieving, _now_?"

He smiled faintly at her, then stood up straighter. "Thanks, Miss," he said softly. "I mean, I still haven't decided. But…"

"Is this where you tell me how much you love me?" She replied as straight-faced as she could. "Because Alistair, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Ever since you looked at me at Ostagar I… Don't know how to explain this." Missa bowed her head against Dog's to hide her smile. Her mabari whined and licked her cheek, suddenly curious.

"Um…"

"Fine, fine. I'll go on, knowing you don't love me. I can take it. I'm a big girl."

Alistair screwed his face up in aversion. "What? No. Maker, no. I mean I like you, just not- you know, in that way. Because… "

Missa smirked and rose, punching him in the arm as she did so. "You really are a gift that keeps giving, you know that? It's precious, it really is."

"Oh, you're going to pay for that." As the cushion was pummelled into her head she ducked, running out the room. She took the laughs when she could with her salroka; theirs was a stormy friendship, but it worked somehow in a way Missa had yet to figure completely.

* * *

The walk to the Assembly to find Vartag Gavorn was easy. On the way, Zevran filled Missa in with all the gossip he picked up; most of it was insubstantial or she already knew, but one made her pay attention. Lord Bhelen "stepping out" with a casteless girl in public, unashamed of his choice of courtesan. She pursed her lips at that, thinking if Rica was safe and happy.

Gavorn finally brought them to the palace, irritably gesturing for them to wait outside the main greeting hall. "It seems my Lord Bhelen is busy," he said, coming back shortly. Missa was subjected to the filthiest look and she raised her eyes, wondering where such scorn came from.

"We can wait," Missa replied, trying not to let her own annoyance show at Gavorn's reaction.

Rica spotted them all, pretty in a deceptively plain white dress decorated with gold chain mail. "Little sister! Lady Marthar said the Wardens had shown up. I had to see myself."

She was enveloped in another hug, and Missa returned it awkwardly. "Hello Rica."

"Come and see your new home! Well, our new home. It's there if you want it. Will your friends forgive me for dragging you away, you think?"

Alistair and Zevran bowed to her, Dog happy to see the nice lady who petted him again. Missa gestured to the pair of them to not say a damn thing, and Alistair grinned a touch evilly.

"Do we have time, Vartag?" Rica asked the man, calling him by his first name.

To Missa's utter surprise the grouchy Second smiled at Rica and greeted her warmly. "Of course, my Lord Bhelen is with a Shaper now. You know how those old academics can go on." Rica kissed the noble on the cheek and this time Missa raised an eyebrow.

"Let's see your new home, then," she said wryly.

Missa and her mabari were dragged around proudly, shown bathrooms the size of her old house and bedrooms covered in gold and jewels. Dresses and gems were given away freely, and she was unsure what to say. "Just take them, I have no use for them all," her sister replied casually. "Would… Would you like to speak with Mother?"

Missa looked away; since her return back home she barely considered the thought of seeing her Mam. To spare Rica's feelings however, she lied. "I've been too busy."

Sadly Rica smiled at her, then nodded once. "All right. I suppose I should return you to Bhelen now, lest I get in trouble for stealing you all to myself."

By the time she returned to the hallway, Zevran and Alistair were nowhere to be seen. Gavorn gestured sharply for her to follow, all the while Missa glaring at his back.

Her first impressions of Bhelen was that he was ignoring her. He had his hands behind his back when Missa entered, not quite facing them as they entered the study. Slowly he turned when she was announced by his Second, and when they were alone he finally spoke. "Hello."

"Lord Aeducan," Missa said, sitting down by his desk uninvited.

He smiled at her lack of manners and poured out two drinks. "Please, call me Bhelen. Welcome to your new house, _little sister_. I understand Rica has shown you around already."

Missa crossed her legs and took the drink offered, ignoring the moniker he gave her. "You could say that," thinking of the jewels and silks thrown in her face and the opulence and splendour showcased proudly.

Bhelen studied her before speaking. "My Second is in a spot of bother, despite your hard work. I'm rather disappointed with him. It seems the Shaperate approached me earlier today to speak of fraud."

She knew he was referring to the promissory notes. Missa thought she was subtle in asking the Shaper during her time there of their authenticity, but apparently not. "Unfortunate," she replied bluntly.

"Quite. It appears I may have to punish such an act, but such is the way of politics. His house will probably be stripped, perhaps not, considering. But regardless, the job is done, and you have so far grasped the politics of the Houses here admirably."

Missa wondered why he was so ready to sacrifice the information, and looked him over curiously. "That's pragmatic," she said, aiming for something neutral. "Unfortunate mess, though," and she cursed her lack of thought of her earlier actions.

He laughed quietly before speaking again. "You misunderstand my intention. House Vartag is not the issue, or the paperwork. No, the real reason is you, the Grey Warden, persuading two of the biggest houses to vote for me. Lord Helmi was quite taken with you, by the way."

"He was a nice man. Lord Helmi, I mean," Missa replied, taking in the noble's words slowly.

Bhelen smiled at her words, goblet in hand. "So he is. Nice and polite, if having fairly progressive views."

"Then how is he still alive?" She asked, having seen first hand what deshyrs are like. Nice could get you killed.

He ignored her blunt question and finally sat down opposite her. "Ah, only the Stone knows that. Regardless, the notes can be argued as a clerical error; both House Dace and Helmi will remain loyal, despite the, shall we say, _misunderstanding_. And Shapers can and will be bribed." Bhelen took another sip of his mead before speaking again. "Tell me, what do you know about the Carta?"

She knew that he knew; Rica was no doubt loose with her tongue to the man she was infatuated with. Her sister must've painted her as the thug who had no choice, her baby sister who had killed merchants for the sake of her family and survival. "A lot," she replied shortly.

"I thought you might say that. What do you know about the Carta since your return?" He asked politely, bright gaze courteous.

Missa did not know why she did not want to share the information she knew; perhaps loyalty for Dust Town ran deeper then her new "family," despite her sister's enthusiasm. "I saw some Carta thugs in the Commons lean on a merchant," she said quietly, opting for a vague answer.

He looked briefly at her then went back to staring at the lava flowing past the window of his office. "I'm sure you know more then that, from what I've heard. You've ventured into Dust Town already since your time here. Oddly enough, it coincides with the apparent murder of one of Lord Forender's men. His body was found yesterday stripped of all his armour and dead from a single dagger wound to the chest. Cleanly done, or so I'm told. Harrowmont is of course vaguely pointing the finger at me, but, well. What would I have to do with that?"

Carefully she looked at him, trying to gauge a reaction. "Sounds like suicide to me. No one goes willingly into Dust Town and not expect a reaction from the locals."

"Quite." He turned to face her once more, another polite smile on his face. "Obviously to secure your troops I need to persuade the Council further. A woman named Jarvia is leeching this city like a cave tick at the moment, and needs to be handled. Which I'm sure you're more then familiar with."

"Obviously," she answered. "I'm curious," she asked dryly, shifting in her seat suddenly. "What else do you know about me? Since apparently you know of my past."

Bhelen carefully pulled a piece of parchment from his desk and scanned the contents briefly, at ease enough to play her game. "You're staying at the Silent Sister inn, where before you stayed at the Smelting Pot. Yesterday you visited Tapster's briefly to speak to Lord Helmi around the first bell, then headed back to the inn to gather your allies. Diamond Quarter was after where there was, apparently, a minor fracas. Lady Dace is still going on about that, by the way, despite her change of heart for the election."

Missa laughed freely; she felt no guilt over her lack of social graces at all. "Oh? I'm honoured."

"Afterwards you headed into the Deep Roads, after an argument with your companions. You went back to your inn where you caused a mild scandal with the proprietor by killing an apparent assassin. Your lover was naked, or so I'm told."

He thought Alistair was her_ lover?_ Wrong, all wrong. Missa made sure she didn't have a reaction on her face and arranged her features to be obviously bland. "Not bad. You missed out who I was fucking though," she said bluntly. "Apparently your spy didn't listen hard enough through the walls." Bhelen cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.

"That's your own business, I'm sure," he replied neutrally. "You sister tells me you have… History with this Jarvia?"

Missa rolled her eyes at that and sniffed experimentally at the goblet. "You could say that, yes. But you already know about it."

He looked her over then, blue eyes calculating. It went on longer then was polite, and just as she was about to say something he finally spoke. "I will welcome you as family, little sister. Regardless of your origin. I know you won the Provings last year because of your skill alone. It caught the eye of the Grey Wardens, and effectively you rose above your lack of caste by beating the best of our warriors. Like my Rica, you left your old life behind… Your family is obviously made of tougher stuff then dust."

She almost laughed, not believing a word of it. "That's precious of you. It really is, I'm touched. Rica will be thrilled. So will Mother, if she's sober enough to care."

There was a momentary spark of anger in that ruthless gaze, and Missa was glad she finally saw a bare glimmer of the man under the polite, contrite mask he was presenting her now. "Come now, I'm sure there's no need for your sarcasm," Bhelen said calmly. "I understand your reluctance considering your background, but… Well, I'm sure you can put aside our differences for the sake of politics for our people. Your need troops, this I can provide. But only if you help me get my throne. After all, we both are …fond of your sister, and she'll be taken care of with me as King."

Missa clenched her fists then, hiding them from view. How dare he use Rica as leverage... How dare he mention fondness, like it was something that could be used as a bargaining chip? "She's besotted with you, you know," she replied casually, despite her seething anger. "She loves her son too. A lot."

Bhelen smiled and Missa wasn't sure if he meant it. "It does me proud to hear you say that, Warden, that my Rica confided that to you. She's a good, kind woman; that's something you rarely see with the ladies of my standing. And our son is an heir, of course, despite his Mother."

The words rankled her. Even in all this opulence, she and Rica were still just dusters, despite their elevation. "I'm sure." Steadily she breathed out, thinking things through. "You really think you're what this place needs?" Missa had no idea why she was asking, if she even cared what happened to Orzammar; but there was a part of her that needed things to be done quickly and cleanly, for there to be no mess for Rica to live in while she left again.

"You ask me this now, in my office? After what you have done since your time here? Interesting."

"It's not just for Rica, you know," she said, using her own sister in the way he had used her previously.

He walked away so his back faced her and poured himself another drink. "Harrowmont certainly isn't what this city needs. He is a good little deshyr and that is all, I grew up watching him. He is… weak. Not forward thinking enough for our people; he is a deliberator and not a decider. The darkspawn below us are merging for a Blight. I believe it, Warden, if others do not."

They were things she agreed with, if she was completely honest. "Fine. I will do it," she said shortly. "I'm sure Jarvia will be pleased to see me. We'll talk about old times over the bodies."

Bhelen chuckled at that and sipped his drink. "I'm sure you can find a way to get in, I've no doubt about that. She's your kind, after all."

The boot was back at her throat and she rose suddenly, putting down her drink on his desk. "I'm sure."

As she made to leave he called her back. "Be careful Warden," he said neutrally. She didn't know how to take his platitude, so pushed it to one side.

"My nephew," she said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'd like to see him. So would my sister, it seems. If she had the chance… Apparently not often enough."

The prince took another sip from his drink and looked her over. "I'll see what I can do. How dutiful of you, Missa; I take family very seriously, it pleases me that you do to."

She wasn't there to please him, despite thinking of the rumours Zevran told her today about the Aeducan siblings. "I'm sure it does. But I've learnt a long time ago you can't chose your family."

"Or your caste," Bhelen added, finishing the dwarven motto. "Well now. I'm sure we'll have a lovely family reunion when you come back from Dust Town. In fact, I'll let Rica organise something. She's quite good at it, as I'm sure you know."

There were many things her sister was good at, but she was too tired and angry to throw them back at his face. "Goodbye, Lord Aeducan."

Missa refused to look over her shoulder when he responded; she would only be sucked back into her rage at her own sudden duty and her part in it all. Despite her frustration of where she was, she was being sent back into the dust; no one would let her forget it, even here in the Palace.

* * *

It was pointless to even attempt to stealth her way into Dust Town. She would go in as loudly and as obviously as a hurtling bronto, all noise and motion. Jarvia would know she was coming, sure. All of Dust Town would, in fact; it seemed fitting that way.

While not quite a meeting of equals, she would play fair; even though Jarvia did not deserve a shred of respect given. Missa would give her old Carta an ample chance to hang themselves first. Some loyalties were hard to pry out of her psyche, despite her new life.

"That's the plan?" Alistair said in disbelief when she mentioned it finally. Zevran did not take his eyes off of her when she revealed what they had to do, very aware what their latest assignment was to her. "But you said this Dust Town of yours… It would rip us apart and steal our armour before we even breathed out."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Are you sure this is sane?" Alistair ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to say.

"It is a foolish plan," Sten said sternly, and crossed his arms. "Lacks tactical thinking, Warden; there is no logic to it."

Missa looked at them all then shrugged. "Actually, it's as tactical as Dust Town gets. I'm tipping over the bucket," she said plainly, pointedly ignoring Zevran's gaze.

Alistair screwed his face up in confusion, mildly annoyed she was being opaque with her orders again. "What does that even mean?"

Zevran slapped him on the back, rakishly grinning at the mention of her words. "Come now, let's go squash some scuttling crabs, yes? Seems the day for it."

"_Crabs?_" Alistair asked, following them all out.

Their walk through the Commons was watched; she knew it would be. As they headed to the entrance to her old neighbourhood she nodded once to the guards outside, knowing they were in Jarvia's pocket. "Boys," she said distantly, flipping a silver bit in her hands. "Best make yourselves scarce. Dust Town's about to get real messy." The coin was flicked into the dirt of the ground, and she walked forward, not even bothering to conceal herself.

The streets were watching, she knew; her message and intention would be carried forward loud and clear into Jarvia's ear before she even reached her hideout. "Are you sure about this?" Alistair muttered to her right, and she ignored it.

Missa had a vague idea where the new Carta base was and would lean on Alimar if her trail ran cold. She had enough silver to bribe him, however, and knew that he wasn't exactly fond of Jarvia to care what happened. As she was about to swing past to the shop of her old tattooist, however, a voice called her out and her heart leapt to her throat.

"What's up, duster?" Leske was there, suddenly real, looking fed and happy and just living _and_-

"You're still alive," was all she said, then laughed. "I thought… Oh Stone, I thought…"

Leske rubbed his arm with a grin where she punched him. "Why you here? Miss getting spit on? Perhaps it's the food, right? Maybe the atmosphere. Always a party in Dust Town."

Something wasn't right; why was he here, why now? "What do you think, Leske? I know thinking is hard for you, but…" She allowed him to shove her then, a familiar gesture that made her ache.

"Ha! Says you. And I got smarter since you left. I had to."

"It's good you finally learnt how, considering I always had to think for the both of us when I was here, salroka."

Salroka. The word hung between them and awkwardly Leske cleared him throat. "Yeah, well. Jarvia's been… Well, you know she and Beraht did the nasty? Seems she takes it personal-like that you decided to gut her lover, you know? I've been keeping low 'cause she blames me, too."

"Only so low you can get in Dust Town," she murmured. "I'm here for Jarvia, actually," and Missa watched his face carefully. He refused to look at her and part of her knew, nervously looking at her companions behind her. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, still not looking away. "How rude of me. This is Leske, everyone. Leske, this is, uh, everyone."

Leske shoved his hands under his armpits and nervously nodded in the direction of Zevran, Alistair and the others. "Missa, I gots to go. I can't hang around, Jarvia wants my head-"

She grabbed his upper arm and dragged him away from the gaze her friends, hiding in the shadowed corner of a slum. "What do you know about her? Are you…" _Fuck it_, she thought. _Ask him anyway_. "Are you still Carta? I heard it's pretty interesting now."

Her old friend shifted on his feet nervously. "Of course not, you think that bronto would take me in? Jarvia, well, she's… She's worked fast. She kept up Beraht's merchant dealings, said some shit about being his wife. She's made so much money from lyrium surface-side, and this soddin' Assembly bollocks over the next King has been good for her, you know? Guards are spread thin, if you see what I mean."

Missa believed most of what he said, and aimed for something blunter. "Do you know where her hideout is?"

"What, you just going to drop in, just like that?"

She shrugged at that and cracked a grin. "Thought we could catch up on old times. You know, maybe I can give her a blow by blow account on how I gutted Beraht. She'd love it."

Yeah, well," he said nervously, then pulled her into whisper into her ear. "Your old place, right? You know how it is around here with old homes. Well, Carta's moved in, turns out your old place was above a tunnel. Should lead to where she is… I mean, it's just leads to the storage subways, but it might be a way in."

With his breath hot on her neck the betrayal felt like a knife twisting in her stomach. Missa turned her head away and leant against the crumbling wall of the slum they were beside, mind racing. Did Leske know she had already visited her home, and was trying to tell her something? "My… home? Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Your Mam would throw a fit, you know? Shit, I'd like to see the old bronto's face when you tell her. You remember when I stole her drink? I…" He cleared his throat again, then adjusted his leathers. "Suppose I should go now, duster. Been out in the open too long."

She looked up at him, eyes hollow, and he knew what she was thinking, his own face pinched and mulish at her reaction. Missa could always read him, whatever he tried. "Leske…" She called out, before he disappeared.

"Yeah?"

"Do or die, duster. You'll always be my salroka." Her voice cracked slightly and he nodded, once. "See you around."

It made the betrayal easier to swallow when she knew what was coming.

* * *

Jarvia's hideout was easy to find thanks to Leske's duplicity. The knucklebones slipped into the door easily, swinging open with little effort. The Carta knew what was going to happen next, and Missa smiled humourlessly.

The dusters she killed yesterday were right, of course; the tunnels were filled with apostates, and human and elven mercenaries alike were hiding out in the shadows of Dust Town. She was curious at how much they were being paid to willingly submit themselves to waiting out in this hole, thinking how her friends reacted so violently already to their stay here.

What caught her eye though, was a Qunari. She had not seen one on the surface outside the Fade other then Sten, and yet here he was. Sten finished off his kinsman himself, eyes glowering dangerously. "Not seen another one of you before," Alistair remarked, wiping his blade clean of blood. "Qunari, I mean."

"He was not Qunari," Sten replied brusquely. "_Ebost issala! Pashara_." He curled his lip up at the corpse at his feet, disgusted.

"Then what was he?" Missa asked quietly, waiting for Zevran to come back from his scouting position.

"He was _Tal'Vashoth._ Not one of the Qun. An exile," he replied.

"Right." Missa thought of what Sten had told her before about his people; the ironies of a Tal'Vashoth dying under Dust Town _and_ surrounded by brands were not lost on her.

Catching Zevran's eye through the gap she gestured for them to follow, swallowing back her annoyance. There were more rooms of Carta to clear out and more resistance. Jarvia had laid out a series of traps, but they were so hastily put together it was easy for herself and Zevran to dismantle them effortlessly. As they approached a door she recognised as Beraht's old storeroom however, apprehension tightened her stomach.

"Well well," she heard as the door swung open, and Missa knew who it was even before she saw. "Come back to kill us all, Brosca? Were the deaths you caused of our kind not enough? Tell me, do you do it for your own perverse little pleasure or are you just as much Bhelen's whore as your sister is?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, finally stepping into the room. "Stop using words you don't understand, Jarvia."

The Carta leader refused to rise to her bait and smirked. "Look around you, duster. Look at what I've achieved."

Alistair looked sideways at her, sword still gripped in his hands. "Right. You've achieved, what, a dirty hole? I love what you've done with the place."

Missa never removed her eyes from Jarvia, ignoring Leske. She knew he was there, knew what would happen next. "Your problem is, you got greedy. Sure, the lack of a king meant you could skim away from the other castes, but you were grabbing handfuls where you shouldn't. Brought too much attention to the Carta, and you know what happens next."

Jarvia circled her. Uneasily Missa followed, refusing to turn her back on the older woman. "You really think that's what it was? Maybe you should speak to Bhelen and ask who he does deals with and just how far he looks away when it suits him."

Out the corner of her eye she could see Alistair sigh, but her reaction was to laugh. "You think I give a shit about that? No. I'm here because you and I have unfinished business. I don't really care what Bhelen says, it's an excuse." Finally she looked away. "Hello, Leske. That was a really stupid trap by the way. I could smell it a mile off."

Her old salroka shifted awkwardly, suddenly uneasy under her gaze. "Brosca," he said in response.

"Interesting people you knock about with now," and she swung her sight back to Jarvia. The thugs around the room were getting edgy, waiting for the word to come. Sten bared his teeth silently, fists gripping dangerously in response.

"You've forgotten how things are done down here, Missa," Leske said quietly.

She threw the words back into his face, pointing with her dagger at him. "No," she said hoarsely. "No I haven't. Dust Town has reminded me ever since I've been back."

"Do or die, duster," Leske whispered softly, low enough for Missa to catch. And then she knew. She knew there was nothing she could do.

Missa had to try, one last attempt, even though… "Come with me, Leske. The surface ain't bad. Survive," she replied harshly, a glimmer of hope there.

He looked away, eyes on Jarvia. "Well, how amusing this is," her old boss said. "Really. It's tugging at my heart."

"Who asked your fucking opinion?"

"Missa…" Alistair warned, a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and spat at Jarvia's feet.

"Betrayal," Jarvia whispered. "Stings doesn't it? Leske thought of it all by himself too, to prove his loyalty to me."

"Enough," Missa replied, tightening the grip of her daggers. "I've heard enough," and she ran towards Jarvia.

Shale stumbled forward, glowing eyes glittering suddenly. "Finally," the golem rumbled, pleased to see action. Heavy legs triggered one of the hastily made traps, but thankfully grease and fire could not damage something made of stone. A burning Shale walked forward to grab the thugs trying to keep out of the way of a flaming golem, and she could only hear the screams.

"Zevran!" She called through the smoke, "the other traps." The room started to fill with noise and chaos, and Missa could barely see her hand in front of her face.

Awkwardly trying to place her old boss Missa staggered forward, her blades at the ready. A pair of axes swung in front of her and barely missed, a line scratching her arm. She turned and kicked at her attacker only to be greeted with Jarvia's smirking face. "Hello pretty," her old boss said, gold teeth gleaming in the gloom.

Missa practically snarled and charged forward, eyes sparking in anger. It was a foolish, thoughtless move; she was running right into another setup.

A dagger grazed her shoulder and she tucked and rolled, bleeding down her arm. Looking over she saw Leske stare at her impassively, blade in his hand. She couldn't do it, despite herself. As she deflected a weak attack from her old friend, Jarvia appeared once more; Missa managed to leap out the way this time, only to land in grease and slip.

Leske aimed another parry into the space where her back now was, but Alistair was suddenly there, the salroka who looked out for her on the surface. As he pushed his sword through her old friend's back she almost cried out loud, angry at her sudden frozen weakness.

She could not move, gripped by some fear that made her watch her old friend die. A booted foot stomped on Missa's hand and her dagger skittered across the floor. It was enough to snap her into action, and she swept her feet out to defend herself in a crouch.

A blur of blonde darted in front of her and Missa watched as Zevran aimed a kick to Jarvia's jaw. The older woman was pushed away from her, lurching under the elf's blow. "Move!" Zevran shouted, dancing out the way as an axe missed his arm.

But Missa couldn't, not yet. With the sword point sticking through his chest Leske stumbled. Missa watched as he collapsed to his knees, hands touching his chest distantly, surprised at the blood there.

It was as if something snapped inside her, time slowing down. She managed to see the last of the dusters be finished off by Sten and Shale, Zevran and Jarvia's blades whirling against each other. Down went Leske, face still on her. She was the last thing he saw before he died, Missa knew.

She went numb then, she had to. Picking up her misplaced dagger she ran towards Jarvia once more, slipping slightly in her boots, to aim a thrust up and under armoured ribs. Zevran, as gentle as a lover, ran a hand over the Carta boss's exposed neck before his dagger found a home between armoured shoulder blades. He dropped her with final slash across the jugular; blood sprayed Missa's face and distantly she wiped it from her face.

There was silence, then. Everyone was looking at her, did they know? Who did she mention Leske to? Zevran knew, Alistair perhaps…

"Missa I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Alistair said, hands over his mouth. "I just- he was going to- I'm sorry."

Missa looked up, unaware her feet had walked her over to the still corpse of her old friend, kneeling carefully by his bleeding body. Gently she closed his eyes, then placed his hands to his chest over his wound. Leske's cooling blood stained her gloves, a dark red on her fingertips. "_Atrasta nal tunsha_, salroka."

Feet appeared by her side and tugged her up. "Come, Missa. We must go." Zevran lifted her from her underarms and she elbowed him away.

"I can't leave him like this. It is a matter of respect. If that even means anything to you."

It was Sten who approached her then. "What do your people do with the bodies of your dead, Warden?"

She looked up at the qunari, trying to work out his motives. "We put them underground so they can become Stone. Bury them. If you're not a worthless duster, anyhow." Missa knew the guards would only shove the corpses into the lava, a wordless funeral. She couldn't let that happen to Leske, despite the betrayal.

Sten looked around. "The room with all the treasure we passed should suffice. We can seal it up after."

Wordlessly the Qunari lifted her dead friend from the floor, scooping him up as easily as a child. Missa followed and as Sten placed the body over a pile of sacks, she covered it with a sheath of surfacer silks.

There was no need for words, she already said them. Shale pounded the entrance with fists of stone and dust and rock settled around it, finally sealed off. Somewhere maybe the ancestor's would forgive both her and Leske; because she could not, not yet.

* * *

It had been an awkward reunion. Barely with the blood washed off of her armour, she had finally held her nephew. While Rica beamed with happiness Missa slowly retreating back in herself, thankful her Mam was too drunk to attend.

Of course Bhelen had not finished with her; he wanted more blood, this time hunting a madwoman in the depths of the Deep Roads themselves. Paragon Branka had to be found, a distant symbol from her past in Dust Town, representing the life she never could've had.

She was a woman who the city had all but forgotten about. Missa remembered the scandal and hearsay of the smith chasing a fable in the shadows of her people's lore the most, but so did everyone. It seemed ridiculous; they had barely two weeks to find her, what chance did they have?

Missa endured a meal with Bhelen and Rica, her companions looking at her ready for the discomposure that never came. Carefully she pushed food around her plate and parroted pleasantries, even managing to speak to supporting deshyrs and nobility attending about politics.

When it was all over she went back to her new room and pulled her armour off, collapsing finally by the hearth in her undershirt. She was desperate for a drink and stared at nothing in particular, willing sleep to come.

The door opened and she wasn't sure how, considering this was the Palace and the place was built to keep things out. "You sister dropped it in the conversation earlier that all the housekeepers here have skeleton keys," Zevran said conversationally, and shut it quietly. "How fortuitous. Of course, that's the thing with servants. Easily bribed, I find."

Missa lifted her head to look at him, pulling herself off the floor finally. He could see how dark and hollow her eyes were then, tired to the bone. "What did you do?" She asked, not quite throwing him out.

He sat next to her silently, making sure there was a polite distance between them. "Oh, nothing serious. I just -shall we say- _turned on the charm_, as Wynne is fond of saying about me."

She could believe that. "What do you want, Zevran? I just want to sleep," Missa said bluntly. She avoided his gaze and stared at the lavastones again, shoulders slumped forward.

They watched the shimmering embers together before he answered her, careful of his next words. " I understand. About today."

That was enough to make her angry. "I don't need you to understand. Get out, if that's what you've come here to do."

Deliberation laced his speech, even though he had no idea what her reaction would be. "I will talk, and you will listen. This is how it will go tonight, I think. No pity for you." His voice was firm and decisive, a scolding edge. It was not the honeyed platitudes she was used to from her lover.

"Who said I wanted it?" She asked curtly, a hair away from pushing him away.

Zevran quietly placed a hand on the small of her back and she jerked suddenly. "Why do you think I came here with you?" He continued, watching her profile for a reaction.

Missa was too tired to see what he was hinting at. "Because you swore an oath?"

"Hmm. Not that, but before. When I met you and you showed me mercy, why was I there?"

"Oh." She thought it through, thinking of the stories he had left hanging, of the slips of his mask he had revealed to her when he thought she wasn't looking. Missa felt a stab of guilt then; of course he would know her misery. "You've never told me," she said roughly, clearing her throat to speak properly.

He joined her in staring at the lavastones again, watching the glowing colours shift and change. "Regret. It's a powerful thing, no? Not quite anger, not quite self-pity. It is a failed mixture of both."

"Not quite vengeance either," she added, thinking of Jarvia's bloated corpse.

"No, never that. It makes for a middling fuel for revenge, regret. But, before I came here to Ferelden, my last mission was… It did not… Well," he chuckled slightly and avoided her gaze once more. Missa found herself leaning against him then, his hand wandering up her back.

"You last mission in Antiva?" She prompted, curious then.

"Yes. You have to remember I was different. I was… Arrogant. Anything and everything was mine. I was the best assassin. The best Crow. The best lover," and at that he pulled her to him. They both collapsed on the heated stone of the hearth, Missa tucked against his shoulder.

"What's changed?" She said wryly, lifting her head from his chest briefly.

Her looked at the stone-cut patterns of the ceiling and smiled, closing his eyes at his words. "Ah, I was worse. Trust me."

"I do," she replied quietly, a loaded sentence. It was enough to keep him talking.

"Hmm," and he rolled her slightly into his embrace. "See, my arrogance was not unnoticed. I had put in a bid for a difficult mark, and it was accepted. It would either be a test of my boasting or my death. Regardless, the Crow Masters would have the situation resolved no matter which way it would go."

It was comforting, in his arms; she found herself edging closer, twining herself around him. Zevran always somehow managed to catch her off guard and Missa wondered why she fought it so often, if it was safe enough to let go. "What happened? You obviously were successful," then mentally kicked herself for her poor choice of words.

It was a while before he spoke once more, eyes following the geometric designs above him again. "I needed help for this mark; he was surrounded by his men, a well guarded house. Taliesen offered his blades, and…" He paused then, hands stilling in their movements of her body. "There was an elven lass. Rinna her name was. She was… All fire and spark. A marvel to watch fight, and she…"

Missa could see where this was going. "She sounds like too much woman for you, Arainai." When he didn't respond, her hands lay limply on his chest, unsure what to say next.

"She was wicked, no doubt. She had these eyes that just gleamed justice, like every mark, every death by her hand was deliberated. Rinna somehow made me feel, or so I thought. She made me realise that…. Well, that there were parts closed to me. And she had found a way in."

The words were at once so familiar, so sharp with their longing that it hurt her chest. Missa clenched her jaw and thought of Leske and Rica, her ties to her city. One dead, one distant. "Where's Rinna now?"

Of course she knew the answer. "Dead," he said listlessly.

"I'm sorry," and she pulled into him tightly, unsure what else she could say.

"I watched her die, and did nothing to stop it. Like she was nothing. She begged for her life, and I ignored her."

She did not know what to do with the confession, as bewildered as he at the starkness of it. Missa wasn't so emotionally stunted to ignore him or offer some half-baked platitude instead, however. "Why?" She asked bluntly.

"Taliesen… You've heard me go on about him, yes? He was like… Like your Leske, I suppose. A sal-raw-kah." His accent made the dwarven word sound exotic to her ears and she smiled, despite the severity of his tone. "He told me Rinna had betrayed us. That she had accepted a bribe from the merchant and that we were walking into a trap."

Her throat tightened at his words, so familiar and foreign at the same time. "And had she?"

He ignored her questions and continued, lost in his own story. "Taliesen cut her throat and I spat on her face, watching her bleed until she died. Of course," he said, falsely positive, "we killed the merchant, Taliesen and I. Rinna did not betray us in the end but… She had died, regardless of it."

Silence washed over them. She rose from his embrace to fully look at him, watching as regret tightened his face. "What happened after?"

Zevran shook his head, a disbelieving smirk dancing on his lips briefly. "I was… Angry with myself. Upset, but they knew what we did, the Crows. The Master who hated me said I had to know my place, and my time would come, like Rinna. I was _nothing_ to them, Rinna was nothing."

She had heard enough. "You're not nothing, Zevran." Her voice cracked. She could've said, _I know, I understand, I've been there._ Instead she took his hand and placed is on her cheek, on top of her brand that was there, scarred in lines and dimples.

He understood the gesture and mirrored his other hand with hers, leaning forward to place his forehead against Missa's. Carefully, tentatively, she kissed him then. Hoping it was enough, that he would understand her inept fumblings at comfort and sympathy.

He responded just as gently, mouth soft against hers. "I've not told anyone this, I vowed I would not," he whispered against her lips.

Missa carefully gripped his hands, throat tight still. "You didn't have to," and sighed as nimble fingers worked their way into her hair. Carefully he moved her so she wouldn't hide away, making sure his words were heard.

"So I know, my dear. What it is like. And even though you think I do not, even though we are different in more ways then one… We are similar, you and I," and he shook her slightly to accent his words. "There is an understanding now, between us. And I will tell you, that whatever it is I looked for when I left Antiva, it's gone. You have helped me realise, my beautiful, magnificent Senorina Brasca, that seeking death is not the only option when you think you have nothing else. That regret can be as confining as your caste, if you let it overcome you."

Her brand itched on her face and she frowned. As if he could sense her discomfort he kissed her scarred cheek, hands never leaving her. "You sought death?" She asked, thinking of their first meeting; it was a flimsy trap Zevran had laid, despite their injuries after.

It was his turn to look away, tawny eyes focusing on the hearth. "You ask me why I left the Crows and each time you did I have lied. I did not have the opportunity like you when you left your Carta, you see, but I was given something else, a mark far away from the prison I was in. I wanted to die, Missa. As far away from Antiva as I could be. What better way to go, hmm? Death by the hands of the legendary Wardens. And such pretty hands they are." With that he kissed her roughened palms once, a cheerless smile on his face.

Missa did not know what to say to his confession, so much words spoken between them and the unsaid still remaining. "I'm sorry for being a bronto," she whispered. "I had to be."

Zevran reached out to her suddenly, touches gentle, hesitant. He kissed her neck below her ear, and once more she yielded. After their time in the Fade she offered comfort this way and it was violently refused, the message too fragile and foreign for Zevran to swallow. Now, though, he touched her like she was precious metal, a carved, beautiful thing joined and held together by delicacy.

While sex was easy for them, as simple as breathing, it was different now. This was something that had to be taken as rote, an act of contrition to wipe away their confessions. Every sigh and sound she made was memorised, a new journey to make on her skin with his tongue and touch.

She felt helpless, in a way. It wasn't torture, but when he entered her and slowly they moved, it was close enough, as he made her feel something she couldn't cope with dealing with, was too hesitant to share. He paused to push the hair back from her face, watching her carefully. The duster thug was on a pedestal now and her Crow was grounded, both different people momentarily changed by their own regret.

They could not name it love, not yet; to them it was a foreign notion, just out of reach and stalling. And it would do, would hold them over before the darkness of the Deep Roads threatened to swallow them, the future uncertain and cruel in ways they both knew could and would happen. So they did what survival taught them and clung to all the life they could, fending off the brutality when it would come. Because inside this room they could be weak, guards finally down.

It was not perfect, but for Missa and her Antivan it would do.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, _holy balls_ that's a long chapter. Thanks for getting that far and sorry for subjecting you to such a huge wall of text. I'll try not to get into the habit of it, I know how annoying it is to read.

Reviews are of course wonderful, so thanks for doing so.

(ALSO a big thank you for Nonvita and madam_pudifoot for the artwork of Missa, I have added it to the collection. Click my name to view the profile, then click on the homepage address to see.)


	21. Gasping For Air

She woke up curled around Zevran, all tangled limbs and warmed flesh. Calloused fingers pulled back hair from her face and she moaned in irritation, fractured sleep fading from her far too quickly.

Something foreign was mumbled into her ear, the words too alien and distant for Missa to decipher. "Don't," he finally murmured in Fereldian, pulling her in closer.

She did not fight him, not just yet. Screwing her eyes tightly shut she pulled into shoulder, nose pressed against the curve of his neck. "I have to," she replied, just as drowsy. Missa did not open her eyes, because if she did it meant she had to move. If she did that then she would have to place past and future events into some form of hidden coherency; currently they were tangled, unwanted thoughts, too much effort to process.

"For the legendary Deep Roads? Full of treasure and adventure, or some such heroic notion." Zevran finally stretched his arms up in a yawn, trying not to move her. Reluctantly Missa let him go and sat up, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms, forcing herself to deal with her problems on her terms.

"More like dust and darkspawn," she muttered. "And the dead."

Missa's mind was completely on Paragons and politics now, coldly pushing aside memories of last night. There were bags to pack, supplies to find; she had to meet with a palace scout recommended by Bhelen, as well as acquire provisions and maps for their journey.

The first bell faintly rang out in the palace signalling morning and Missa groaned, the weight of the day ahead fully stretching across her thoughts. She had yet to work out who would even be accompanying her into the Roads, wondering if those that allied themselves to her cause would even follow willingly into the tainted corruption that was there.

A hand touched the small of her back and she snapped out of her brooding, and her chest tightened as he kissed her on the shoulder. "We will be fine," he said inexplicably. Missa had no idea what he was referencing to, and shrugged half-heartedly.

"I'm sure. You really want to come? I can understand if you don't. It will not be pleasant."

Amber eyes looked her over thoughtfully before speaking. "I made a vow," he replied quietly. "I will not break it."

She snorted at that, finally finding the energy to haul herself out of bed. "Right."

"You leave me alone to endure this wealth all by myself? Oh. Such a shame," Zevran grinned rakishly, gesturing at the gems imbedded in gold-lined posts framing their bed.

"Somehow I'll manage," and turned to face him as she searched for her clothes scattered on the floor where they left them.

Missa's throat caught strangely as she found herself staring, eyes taking in Zevran's rumpled demeanour and the way his hair tumbled over his shoulder just _so. _It was a long enough pause for him to notice and Zevran opened the covers again in invitation, an eyebrow raised. "Zev…" she started, ignoring the lecherous smile he was only wearing.

"You're no fun."

"That's me, life and soul of the party," she looked away finally, reaching for a handful of drying cloths by her pack. Missa put her feelings in a place locked away shut, too precious and complicated to deal with right now. "Going to wash in one of those bathrooms the size of a tavern," she said finally.

"Do you need help?" Missa threw him a look of concealed annoyance and he responded by holding his hands out in contrition. "Only a suggestion. I can help reach in places you can't quite get at. One of my many talents, obviously."

"I can play hide the soap by myself, it's okay."

As she finally left him alone, Zevran did his own version of shutting down his thoughts. As he pulled on his breeches with his mark firmly back in place, an insistent knock sounded against the dull stone of the door.

Without thinking he opened it, only to be greeted by his lover's sister dressed and coiffed already so early in the day. "Oh!" Rica said, surprised at his appearance. Zevran bowed suddenly, then took her still raised fist and kissed it.

"My dear, you look radiant this morning. I feel simply underdressed and drab compared to such loveliness, please excuse me," and Zevran pulled his shirt on quickly.

"That's… okay. I was looking for Missa," Rica replied, fluster turning into amusement rapidly.

"In '_a bathroom the size of a tavern_,' or so I was told. But you didn't hear it from me, of course."

"Oh, of course." Rica looked him over, frowning slightly. "I'd be careful, were I you. About my sister, I mean."

Zevran raised his eyebrow at that, wondering it was an idle threat. "Oh? I can assure you my intentions are honourable and chaste. Despite appearances, my! What you must think. I merely visited the Warden's room this morning to return a borrowed item, naturally."

Rica of course did not believe a word of it, and wondered how a lady would respond to such a situation. In Dust Town she would look at her sister's tumbles with exasperation and glare at her choice of partner until they left, but thankfully Missa never was one for bringing home anything often.

"Right, I'm sure. Just… Watch out for yourself, I know my sister. Don't get… Too attached," and cursed her attempts at diplomacy. "She has a habit of breaking hearts. Just warning you, is all. Oh, don't listen to me, forget I mentioned anything. I just talk and talk in the early mornings until my brain finally warms up, and before I know it I've talked people half to death! M_y little chatterbox, _Bhelen calls me."

His response was to bow again so the redhead could not see his amused reaction. "I cannot help myself. Where she leads, I follow. Such is life, no? I can think of worse things then to be _broken_, as you say, by such magnificence. Which I see runs in the family, as such a pretty lady as yourself can attest to, of course. You break the hearts daily of the men around you, I'm sure."

"I…" Rica was back to being flustered, unsure how to answer. While she was used to rough compliments when she was a Noble Hunter, Zevran was all subtle lechery and louche flirting, at once familiar and foreign at the same time. "Well, I'm… Going to find my sister now. Atrast tunsha… Zevron, is it?"

"Zev_ran_," and he rolled the _r _of his name in a show. Rica inclined her head slightly and the elf moved when she did, finally heading into the room put aside for him in the first place.

Rica shook her head and knocked the bathroom opposite her sister's sleeping quarters. "Missa?" She said hesitantly, opening the door slightly. She really hoped there was no more surfacers to confuse her; there was only so much strangeness she could take before breakfast.

"Yes?" She heard a familiar voice call, relieved enough to recognise it.

"It's only me. Rica, I mean."

"Come in," and Missa pulled the drying cloths tighter around her, dripping wet still from her bath.

"Are you off to the Grey Warden headquarters soon? Bhelen says that's where the meeting is, with… a Thaudrin, I think? One of the warrior caste scouts, he's a bit of an expert on the Deep Roads. Has all the latest information, anyway."

"Grey Warden headquarters?" She asked blankly, shaking her damp hair slightly.

"Yes! For such honoured guests as the Wardens, Orzammar saw fit to give them their own place here in the Diamond Quarter. Here, I have the key," and she held out a heavy, plain looking silverite key on a thin chain pulled from her pocket.

"Huh," Missa muttered, stunned by the revelation. She wondered if Lord Aeducan conveniently forgot in mentioning this in their meetings as it amused him, keeping her as a guest to spite Harrowmont.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Rica said, just as astonished at her sister's lack of knowledge.

Missa thought that somehow this was Alistair's fault and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "Apparently not," she mumbled, trying not to think of her time in expensive, insecure inns since they arrived.

"Well, it's a good thing in a way," Rica replied as she watched Missa put the chain around her neck. "It means I had time to hire servants and sort it out for you."

"Servants?"

"You needed a housekeeper, everything was so dusty and dirty. I had to buy new bed linen and… Well, I didn't touch the armoury, of course. Oh! That reminds me, I forgot your Name Day this year."

She wryly looked at her sister and raised an eyebrow. Aware of her lack of dress, Missa pulled the drying cloths tighter around her body, trying to think of a polite way to excuse herself. "I'm sure I can forgive you."

Rica bumped against her deliberately and finally looped her arm through hers. "Come on," she replied. "I have a present waiting, I can't wait to show you. I didn't last night as you went to bed early. Didn't want to wake you; but when I saw that elf leave just now, _maybe_ I shouldn't have bothered."

"What did you get?" Missa said quickly, changing the subject before her sister pried further. She was dragged the short walk to Rica's sitting room, where a very shiny, very expensive suit of armour rested on a stand. "Oh."

Nervously the redhead patted her hair, anxious now at her choice of gift. "I had to guess the size. I was unsure if the surface would change you," she said. "I mean, you're a Grey Warden now. It's just not _done _for you to run around in old patchy duster rags, is it?"

"I… don't know what to say," then looked away from her and the polished silverite of the armour, meaning every word.

"Can't have my little sister face darkspawn without protection. You can wear it to… What Bhelen wants you to do."

The thought of wearing plate in the suffocating heat and air of the Deep Roads made her grimace, but she quickly hid her reaction from Rica for fear of upsetting her. "It's very grand, Rica."

"Do you want to try it on? The smith said there was padding too, for underneath."

She had helped Alistair into his armour plenty of times, but now that it was her turn she didn't know where to start. As she put a simple pair of linen breeches and a breastband on behind a screen, Rica held out the cuirass of the chest piece for her be buckled into, practically glowing with a proud smile.

"Well. Look at you," she heard muttered by the doorway. Knowing who it belonged to, she swallowed her fear quickly.

Finally, after days of avoiding her, Missa met their Mother. Kalah stumbled into the room in a waft of stale booze, a distinct, sharp smell that kicked her memories and made her wince in disgust. "Hello Mam," she said quietly. The armour made her stand reluctantly straighter, pinching her at the waist as she tried to slump into herself.

Rica could see the reaction, but refused to cover up either side of the confrontation. "Have you eaten breakfast, Mother? I'll send for food. We can all sit and eat like a family, wouldn't that be nice?"

"I can't stay," Missa replied quickly. "I have things to do before I leave for the Roads."

Their Mother muttered something neither of them could catch and collapsed in her dirty dress by the chairs of the room. "Missa's a Warden now, remember?"

"Too good to see your Mam?" Kalah spat back. She could smell the alcohol again and Missa gagged slightly, irritated by her need to bolt.

"Still drinking I see," she said bitterly. Rica gave her a look of embarrassed annoyance at both her reaction and their Mam's hungover state.

"I can drink what I want," Kalah said, woozily pointing at her with a chuckle. "They have rooms here full of booze. And I can go whenever I want."

Rica nervously fiddled with her rings, unsure what to say to the pair of them. "Enough now, I'll send for some food. We can eat and-"

"I got to go." Missa started to pull off her armour, face suddenly flushed. Anger rose like bile in her throat and she clenched her jaw, refusing to look at her Mother.

"But…" Rica was just as angry, but refused to show it. It was so _unladylike_, even if she wanted to clout her kid sister around the ear for being childish.

"You're nothing," Kalah mumbled, methodically drinking from a bottle without any thought. "Nothing but Dust Town whores, the pair of you. Don't you forget it, 'cause they won't let you anyway."

Missa's reaction was to laugh hollowly, the images of Leske bleeding by her feet coming back too soon. "You say that like I give a fuck, Mammy."

Rica helped the older woman to sit up properly, pouring out a mug of water for her to drink. "Enough, Mother," she finally muttered, much to Kalah's disgruntled reaction at being moved. "Just go," she said, looking up at Missa. "I'll see you later, if I can."

She turned on her heel and left, not even bothering to look behind her at the family she left for the surface.

* * *

The Grey Warden base was tucked behind the Shaperate and the Palace, hardly even a stroll from the main gates. The scout Bhelen sent for her to talk to waited by the doors, a bundle of maps in his hands. As she pulled out the key to open up the headquarters, he introduced himself.

"Atrast vala, Wardens. My name is Thaudrin. Ivo Thaudrin, if you want to be technical about my title."

She looked him over cautiously; a slight man with a fussy beard, meticulously clean leathers and small eyes. Unsure quite how he was the Deep Roads "expert," she pushed the door open with a shrug. "I'm Warden Missa and he's Warden Alistair, if you want to be exact also."

"Last time your organisation graced our city a man called Duncan resided here. Which I'm sure you know about, considering, your, ah, origin," he said said politely. "It was my job to act as ambassador during his stay, I suppose. I saw your fight at the Provings held in his honour, by the way."

"Duncan?" Alistair said, curious, interrupting Missa before she could snarl a reply. "He lived here?"

"For a time, yes," Thaudrin replied, amused at his reaction. "How is he? Your organisation isn't exactly the type to send love letters from the surface."

Silence punched the air before Missa spoke. "He died at Ostagar," she said quietly. "At the start of the Blight."

The scout cleared his throat, aware of his misstep. "Then Ancestors favour his passing. I liked him, he was an honourable man."

Finally they entered their headquarters. Missa noted with amusement at the silk flowers in a stone vase at the centre of the entrance room, a very Rica touch. Alistair noticed her reaction and smiled despite his sudden pensiveness. Gesturing vaguely at the carved griffons above the hearth, he looked at her wryly. "Nothing says Grey Wardens then pretty petunias, obviously."

"Like you would know what a petunia is," Missa muttered.

"I think they're freesias," Leliana added thoughtfully.

"No, definitely not dear. They're hollyhocks," Wynne replied.

Bhelen's scout looked at them like they were all crazy, and Missa hid a grin. "Allegedly a weapon collection is housed here," she added. "Let's see what we can salvage for our expedition."

The armoury held an impressive set of blades and chainmail, even if a few pieces yielded to rust from disuse. Missa eyed a light metal and leather jerkin idly, and wondered if it would fit. As she ordered the others to start scouring the house for supplies and resources, the front door was thumped heavily.

"You can deal with that," Missa said distantly to Alistair, fully expecting a snarky comeback.

"Right," was all he replied, heading to greet visitors no doubt wanting something from them.

Thauldrin gestured to her with his maps and she cleared a table free of weapons to make room for his charts. One was old and papery, lyrium ink not quite fading from the leather of the pulled bronto skin. The other was a new parchment, creamy white and dotted in colour.

The two maps were laid side by side. Missa frowned, then trailed a finger alongside a route. "I suggest heading to Aeducan thaig. It's well cleared, and was were Branka initially headed to first," Thauldrin said clearly.

"We can bypass Aeducan thaig," she murmured.

"I would suggest-" the scout started to say, but was promptly silenced with a glare.

"It's a pointless diversion," she said brusquely. "Caridin's Cross makes more sense. It's an old crossroads, right? We might be able to pick up a clue as to where she went, if her house managed to get that far. Aeducan thaig is partially cleared, yes. But we can avoid it."

"This makes no sense, Warden. Why would you gamble on such a thing?" He looked at her in question, and she could see what he was thinking. _How would a brand know? _

Missa ignored his implied insult and traced her finger along the older map curiously, deep in thought. "The newer map is the Roads as they are now, correct? Or at least as accurate as you can get."

"Indeed. Information from our own scout network and what we've learnt from the Legion of the Dead."

"Right, right. What's this?" And she pointed a broken line near the spot near the Caridin's Cross marker.

"The nature of the darkspawn is to tunnel, and the old roads and caves shift from it. This one is one of their own; it's not exactly ventilated, but it will get you to the crossroads quickly." The scout paused slightly, and stroked his beard. "According to the Legion, it's still heavily infested," he replied diplomatically. "I mean, the maps here are out of date and I'm not even sure… Well, this might be old news to the Legion now, anyway."

That interested Missa. "When was the last time you spoke to them?" She asked him, eyebrow raised curiously.

The scout looked at her dismissively before speaking. "It's of no consequence."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, silently funnelling her anger to a place where she couldn't react. "Right. I'm sure. Because a militia who are dedicated to fighting Darkspawn in the Deep Roads is of no consequence to me, a Grey Warden, and of my task to find our Paragon."

Thaudrin refused to back down. "They will not help you. Not while there is no king on the throne. They answer to no one else."

"I didn't _ask _for help," she spat back. "I asked when was the last time you spoke to the Legion. If even reports are still being sent back to Orzammar. It's useful information to me."

Her words were loud enough for Leliana and Zevran to look up from their supply duty, both exchanging a look at Missa's tone. "They won't answer. And reports, as you call them, have always been shaky. You must know how the Legion operates."

Missa was angry enough to hit her fist on the table. "You carry on being this obtuse, I'll-"

Her words were interrupted, however, by yelling in the courtyard. "It appears you have visitors," Bhelen's scout answered before she could react. "Drunken ones at that."

"A drunk dwarf, in Orzammar? What a rare occurrence," Zevran said softly, Leliana hiding a grin behind her hand.

"Don't lie to me, I know the Grey Warden is here," she heard being said finally, and debated going outside. Why hadn't Alistair intervened, where was he?

"I really must insist-" Wynne started to say, and a red haired warrior in dented plate stumbled into the armoury, metal doors swinging open with a creak.

"You, you seen the Warden?" He said. Missa could spot a drunk when she saw one and grimaced.

"I apologise, Missa," the older woman flustered, following their uninvited guest coolly. "There was no stopping him."

She gestured to Wynne to let him through and finally the mage closed the door on them all. Missa looked him over once, then went back to the maps. "Depends. Who's asking?"

She had an inkling who he was, but waited; the dwarf could be useful, but somehow he made her hackles rise. "It's only Oghren." Thaudrin mumbled to her right. "Go home and sleep it off, Oghren. No one needs you today."

"You're the Warden?" Oghren said, blearily rubbing his eyes. "I mean, I vaguely remember something about a brand being one, but you have to understand that was several flagons ago and a nug kebob I don't really want to see again."

Missa could see Leliana smiling still at their reluctant street theatre. "Take a look around you. What do you think?"

"Suppose it makes sense with the elf there," and he jerked his thumb at Zevran. "Bit of a brassy pack you got going on, though I did appreciate the human with her bits hanging out by the doorway, heh."

"Such a charmer," the said elf replied. "Smart, too. A positively deadly combination."

"I got a favour to ask," and at that Missa snorted.

"Oh, it just gets better," Zevran said. "Honestly, I am not sure how I am keeping my hands to myself with such virility on show," and Missa twitched her mouth in humour briefly at the thought of her lover doing just that, then cursed at the unwanted mental image her imagination threw up in her head.

"I may regret this, but what do you need?" She asked, wondering where this was going.

"You need me," the redhead stated vehemently, after throwing Zevran a disgusted look. "Name's Oghren, by the way. Not sure what you've heard about my, er, reputation."

She vaguely remembered the story of Branka's husband, the man she left behind to rot in the city. "I've heard something, yes."

He laughed at that, then scratched at his neck. "Yeah, well. All you've heard is that I piss ale and kill soddin' little boys who can't hold their sword up the right way. Ha."

"There's more to it then that," Thaudrin muttered. "He killed Lord Meino's youngest in a fight meant for first blood at the Provings."

"I paid for my crime, nug humper. Deep Roads saw to that," he spat back.

Thaudrin shook his head disgustedly and went back to the maps at the table. "Warden, are you seriously considering this man? He's practically nothing. A disgrace to _my _caste."

Oghren raised his fist, the tone switching to palpable anger instantly. "Say that again." he growled. "Go on."

"Try it. You and I both know what will happen if you break your decree not to fight. I'm sure the surface is lovely this time of year, or so I'm told- I'd rather not lose my stone sense. Unlike you," Thaudrin said, baiting the older man to swing a punch.

She noticed Leliana and Zevran reach subtly for their weapons and walked up Oghren, hands out stretched. "Let's all calm down, shall we? You have one more chance to say why you're here, or I'll boot you out myself."

Missa fixed him a look cold enough to make Oghren dance on his feet nervously. "Only now these soddin' streaks of piss are interesting in finding Branka now that they need a Paragon. I know where she went, and what she's looking for. Which is what you need."

"Really now. Prove it," she replied, crossing her arms. "I know she went down to look for old machinery that our people have forgotten, if that's what you're trying to bribe me with."

"Huh, seems Bhelen's little scouts ain't so useless after all. Fact is, I know exactly why she's there."

"He can prove nothing!" Thaudrin muttered. "He knows no more then we do."

"Yeah? A round at Tapster's says I do. _She was my wife_."

"A wife that left you," Thaudrin baited again, finally disgusted with the conversation. "Speaks volumes, doesn't it?"

"Enough," Missa said, looking over her shoulder at Bhelen's scout. "What else do you have, Oghren? My name is Missa, by the way."

"Branka's a brilliant girl," he replied. "Has a mind like a steeltrap, all snapping decisions… But mostly she went about it strangely. I know how she thinks, and what she would do." With a shrug he pointed to the weapons on the rack. "I can also hit things."

"That I would like to see," Zevran interjected. "Wouldn't you, _signorina_?"

"Keep on talking like that and that I'll show you what I can do, elf. It'll be pretty."

"Promises, promises. Sounds like a fine way to pass the time."

Missa sighed and shrugged distantly. If anything, Oghren would be a spare sword, even if he was too drunk to stand, much as she loathed drinkers. She also believed his words, and that he knew his wife; even if she did leave him to stew in booze alone. "Alright, we have a deal. Let's pool our resources and get going, there's not much time."

"What?" Thaudrin practically shouted. "Are you crazy? You're letting this… drunkard disgrace your movement by association?"

They were the final words that sealed her opinion of Orzammar's supposed _best of the best_. "Disgrace my movement? Interesting choice of words, wouldn't you say?" She said to Zevran and Leliana, avoiding the scout's bluster.

Zevran, seeing where the conversation was going, smirked slightly. "Grey Wardens? Ah, I hear they let anyone in by association. Assassins, criminals, murderers, bards, apostates…"

"Dusters," Missa finished, never removing her eyes from Thaudrin.

"Those too," Zevran replied. "Of course, such a sacred movement would never allow such a thing. All hearsay and gossip, obviously."

"Obviously," and her brand itched on her cheek again.

"That maybe so," Thaudrin said, refusing to back down, "but it's Oghren. He can't fight."

"Where we're going he can," she said quietly. "No one should enter the Deep Roads defenceless."

"I refuse to take part in this," the scout replied angrily. "To be allied with this…intoxicated fool."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," and Oghren reached for his hipflask to take a large swig. "Heard there's two bits off of lichen ale at The Smelting Pot if you want to drown yourself."

Missa took one look at the scout and smiled. "You heard the _fool. _We're done here, if that's the way you want to play it."

As Thaudrin flushed angrily, he started to roll up the maps, refusing to look at them all. "Oh no," she said quietly. "You leave those. They're mine."

It went silent for far too long and Missa debated if she had to do something. Finally the scout left, aware he had no choice. As the door was slammed loud enough to shake the dust from the walls, she looked at Oghren thoughtfully. "Good riddance," the warrior muttered.

"You better be worth it," was all she replied. "I loathe drunks."

* * *

The gates of Orzammar were the next stop, but Missa knew she could not just disappear, not yet.

They finally left the headquarters bags full, Oghren disapearing briefly to pack for the journey. She spotted Alistair outside the Shaperate, listening intently to the crowd gathered there. Where Missa lacked the patience to stand still and deal with their problems, he paid attention; even if he was unsure what to do, she could see he was at least pretending he would know, palming off the deshyrs and the merchants wanting this and that from the Grey Wardens present in the city with an open smile.

Rica approached them nervously as they waited for Alistair to finish, unsure what to say. "There you are," she said a shade too brightly. Missa wasn't fooled by her cheery routine, however.

"Sis," she said briefly. "You remember Morrigan and Leliana from last night, right? And this is-"

"Zev_ran_, I remember." She smiled and shook her finger briefly. "I got it right that time," she said. "I can't roll my r's like you did earlier though."

Missa did a double take, nervous at the thought of somehow both Zevran and her sister alone together. It wasn't that she was worried about him flirting with her senseless -okay, perhaps that _was_ a little weird- what bothered her the most was the notion of what Rica would've said to him.

"We're waiting for Alistair," she said, changing the subject. Morrigan chuckled at her discomfort and crossed her arms, well aware of the awkwardness.

"Would you mind indulging me with something? I forgot to ask, last night. It's only about flowers. You'll think me silly."

"Ask away!" Leliana said. "I love flowers. I noticed some pretty silk ones earlier."

As Rica looked at the surfacers nervously she talked about polite nothings, anxiously fiddling with her hair as she did. She asked about the sights she had seen and what was the sky like and _did it really rain? _Zevran and Leliana graciously answering her questions in amusement while Morrigan graciously ignored them all, silent if only for Missa.

Distantly she ramained silent as her sister could not, watching as Alistair started to talk to a woman outside the Shaperate, all easy charm and confidence. Somehow Shale managed to look sulky standing beside him, a feat for a golem. "I have to go soon," Missa said suddenly to Rica before she could babble anymore.

"I'm sorry about Mother," her sister blurted out. "I just-"

"It's fine," Missa replied brusquely, fed up that Rica still defended Kalah's antics.

"Please be careful. I lost you once, I don't want to lose you again." She was pulled into a fierce hug and awkwardly she returned it, kissing her sister's cheek briefly.

"I'll be fine, Rica. Look after yourself here, I worry about you."

"I wish you could've seen Endrin again, but… Just come home safe." Rica refused to cry, forcing a watery smile to show instead. "You'll be fine, you always turn up anyway."

"Like a bad copper bit."

Rica laughed genuinely, then stood straighter. Missa nodded and walked away, thankful her friends were silent during the whole exchange.

As Alistair finally approached them all she set off to meet with the others by the entrance of the Deep Roads. She looked at Zevran in question, her eyes asking again what she mentioned in bed. He answered by nonchalantly leaning against the opened door, eyes adjusting to the gloom slowly.

Dog whined at her feet and she ruffled his ears. "Before we go in, I- look, I'm not good at speeches. But, you don't have to come. Where we going is not going to be… pleasant. If the darkspawn don't get you maybe the stalkers will, and if all else fails you're going to be exposed to the taint constantly. It's not…" Missa gestured helplessly in the air, irritated at her own inarticulate nature.

"You're not Grey Wardens," Alistair finished quietly, standing beside her. "It's not in your blood, like it is for us." She thought of the poisoned chalice she drank from and nodded, her body changed and warped. It was a second chance, but one with a price.

Wynne stepped forward first, jaw tight with steely determination. Missa made sure the older woman only carried the medical supplies, but she was shocked at the resolve and quiet strength she was now showing, hands gripping her staff tightly. "I am ready."

Sten followed next in silence, nodding briefly his reply. Leliana beamed a nervous smile at her and adjusted the hold of her bow, clearing her throat to speak. "'_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade. For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.'" _Was her answer, and Missa tried not to raise her eyebrow at more Chantry droning.

"Do I have a choice?" Shale grumbled, annoyed at having to carry most of the supplies. "Marvellous. I'll just go play in the Provings. It looked delightful fun."

"I'm sure the Shaperate would love having you around, Shale," Alistair said quickly. "They were so keen when we were there, I mean, I can't think why. Something about buying an old relic? Who knows."

"Can I squish it, Warden?" The golem asked thoughtfully. "It talks with It's floppy mouth irritably."

"It's 'may I,' Shale," Wynne correctly primly. "I'm sure you _can_, ah, squish accurately. If you _may_ is an entirely different matter."

"I know what I meant, Elder Mage. I was not asking permission," and the golem stood next to Missa without question.

Alistair shrugged with a smile. "You can't squish me, I'm too pretty."

"Ha," Morrigan said loudly. "If overgrown idiots that fuss too long with their hair are deemed manly enough to be pretty then… Hmm, I take it back. You _are_ pretty, Alistair. Perhaps I should keep an eye on my combs and pins, lest you get ideas of stealing them to primp yourself."

"This is as touching as watching Tapster's before closing time, but let's get going shall we? Before the horde see the open door and swarm us all," Oghren replied irritably.

The gates shut finally, and the Deep Roads called.

* * *

It took only half an hour before the signs of corruption greeted them all, Zevran curling his lip distastefully at the sight. They passed the second set of gates that led further into darkness, and Missa stopped briefly to check her maps, scanning the tunnels for signs for the turning point they needed.

The door was dented and covered in graffiti, signs of abuse and brute force lingering on the stone. Wynne tapped a pattern of scratches with her staff, looking thoughtful. "What did this, I wonder?" She asked out loud.

"Lady, you'll soon see," Oghren said bitterly with a swig of his drink. "These doors are meant to keep things out, if you see what I mean."

"Not what, who," Missa replied quietly. "Look," and she pointed out the scratch marks barely visible underneath the fleshy corruption of the taint. She put a gloved hand against the grooves, her fingers fitting perfectly. "Some duster sent to die, more then likely, clawing for their escape."

"They closed the gates on some during the evacuation to Orzammar, I remember that at least. Or it could be those sent to die recently in the Deep Roads, unlucky sods," Oghren added. He toed the graffiti near the marks with a booted foot, and laughed. "Heh. I like this one."

Missa squinted at the runes and grinned. "Me too."

"What's it say?" Alistair asked, peering over their shoulders.

"Sure your delicate nug ears can cope, little boy?" Oghren slurred. Morrigan chuckled at that, amused at a dwarf calling Alistair _little_.

"It says, 'fuck you all, I live,' to put it bluntly." Missa translated for the surfacers. She pulled her dagger out and cut away the corruption, then with the point of her knife added her own words quickly in the eroded stone.

"And what do you say?" Zevran said, curious at her actions.

"Pretty much the same."

"You spelt _die_ wrong," Oghren pointed out, looking down briefly at her work.

"Whatever," Missa shrugged. "Let's get moving, hmm?"

"What did you really carve?" Zevran asked her. She could see his eyes shine in amusement briefly, and she smiled.

"_Do or die. Th_e duster way, of course."

"Ah, I should've known. Hurrah for the doing and not the dying, yes?"

They all walked along in the gloomy light of the fractured path silently, mage light barely guiding their way. Missa could feel the darkspawn now, writhing under her skin like maggots. The words hacked into the walls occasionally flashed through the corruption under the dimmed glow of the staffs, snatches of prayers, epitaphs and defiant screams to the stone that abandoned them. She carried them with her, comforting in their own twisted way.

Finally she reached the tunnel they needed, and Oghren looked at her with a grin. "No Aeducan thaig?"

"Not really, no." Missa looked into the obscurity of the passageway, apprehension writing in her stomach like the constant chatter of the horde in her head. Heat curled around her face, stale air moving as slow as lava around the entrance.

"It's a sandpit for fat soddin' deshyrs to poke deepstalkers with. All to prove to each other they got a weapon worth poking, anyway."

She chuckled at that, thinking of Lord Dace and his warriors. "True. Come on," and she started to descend into the tunnel.

"This looks pleasant," Alistair muttered. "You show me all the sights worth seeing in your homeland, Missa. Honestly, I'm spoilt."

"Ain't the first time I've crawled in a dark, hot hole," Oghren said in a leer to Morrigan. The witch scowled and walked on ahead, her mage fire glowing red briefly in her anger.

"That sounds like a story," Zevran said in a laugh. "Do tell."

"Before I met Branka there was this warrior with tits like two bellows. She could swallow swords whole, if you get my-"

"Shut up and move," Missa said loudly, wiping the trickling sweat from the back of her neck.

The heat was now suffocating, and she could hear her mabari pant loudly, hacking every so often to get a bigger lungful of air. Missa started to yawn, aware of how dry and dusty the heat was. Maybe if she sat down to rest it would be better, but her instinct was prodding her to keep going.

Sten staggered against the wall, unusually clumsy in his footfalls. The larger man was wilting under the suffocating air, and loosening his armour straps slightly. "Looks like we have to go soon," she said quietly, too weak to shout as the group all stopped to rest momentarily.

"How much water do we have?" Zevran managed to say, voice hoarse.

"Ration it," Missa replied brusquely. Carefully she took a small sip from her bottle, trying not to yawn again. It was impossible to see how far ahead they needed to travel.

"We can't go back," Alistair rasped. "Right?"

"No. Makes no sense," and was glad he was struggling to breath to retort a proper answer.

"I got a splitting headache, Warden," Oghren said. "It's like a hangover without the fun."

"Let's move on again," she practically growled, hoping the end of the tunnel would come soon.

Looking behind her she saw Sten collapse further, falling to his knees. Too exhausted to speak he looked at Missa in defiance, and she gestured to Shale to aid him subtly. "The Qunari is only helping me with my burden, yes?" The golem said, offering an arm for the man to lean on. Sten nodded once, briefly, and their party staggered on.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, hazy light greeted them. Missa was convinced there was a cooler breeze heading up. Determinedly she walked forward and increasing her pace, when suddenly she felt something, the maggoty feeling creeping across her skin and getting worse. "No…" she said out loud. Not now, not like this.

Turning she faced her expedition, daggers in her hands, gesturing for caution. Alistair, sensing the darkspawn ahead also, withdrew his sword silently. He gestured with his shield hand and held out four fingers; Missa nodded once, agreeing with his count.

While four darkspawn against their nine was hardly nothing, in her group's currently air-starved state it was. She knew they sensed them as much as she could, flashes of movement in her head signalling their close arrival. Leliana shakily pulled back her bow, arms weak; Morrigan leant on her staff briefly to right herself, mage fire dancing in her hands brighter and hotter. Everyone was ready, but the heat made it harder.

The scouts came first, flesh withered and blackened; Missa vaulted forward while Dog followed unsteadily at her heels, barking protectively. She used her own tired inertia to plough straight into the midsection of the closest one, jamming her shoulder against an armoured chest.

Teeth and claws scraped her face and she used the last of her strength to drive her daggers up and under a protected ribcage, trying to find a point to pierce flesh. Arrows and magic flew past her mabari, Missa trying not to tumble with her attacker as he was dragged to the floor. Dog opened powerful jaws to bite at an exposed throat, finally bringing her enemy down.

There was still one more, however. Sensing that it was close, she rose slowly, hissing as she touched the jaggered cut on her cheek. As green fire pulsed past her shoulder, she found their remaining foe; a lone emissary, balling corrupt magic in emaciated hands until it grew larger and larger.

Part of the tunnel collapsed behind them, the force of the darkspawn's magic blasting the walls of the passageway to rubble. It started a chain reaction, and a sound like a roar reverberated through their feet, their location suddenly precarious.

She found the strength to yell then. "Move, all of you!"

Cold air blasted by her face as Morrigan found the strength to fire off a spell, wildly aiming her magic with no precision; the emissary stood with his feet locked in ice, barely missing her.

As Missa crawled up the tunnel to reach him, a dagger flew past to find a home on a shoulder, interrupting the emissary before it could cast again. She aimed a punch to a throat; it was distracting enough for Alistair to finish the last of the darkspawn off, magic slowly drained from the air.

Looking behind her she could see the rest catch up and pull themselves out of the passageway, finally out onto the main path of the Deep Roads once more. "We're not going back that way," Alistair said, taking off his breastplate to cool down. Dust spiralled out of the tunnel in a smoke-like spiral, the sounds of it collapsing in on itself like a distant thunderstorm.

"We're alive," Missa said in a shrug.

"Allegedly," Zevran said roughly. "I'll have that back, I think," she heard him mutter, words a whisper from the harsh of the air. With a distasteful grimace he pulled his thrown weapon out of the corpse and wiped it clean on his cloak, disgusted by the trail of corruption it left.

"Well, at least we're out of the tunnel." Missa slowly collapsed in exhaustion, relieved to be out of choking atmosphere that made her lungs wheeze in protest.

"There's an air vent here," Leliana gestured. They all stood underneath the opening, sweat cooling finally on dirty faces. Sten took a deep lungful in the cleaner space, trying to right himself, a prayer of the Qun mumbled briefly.

In the brighter light she could see they were all covered in dust. A trail of tears lined her face from her constant yawning, and distantly she wiped at it. "You look like how the Dalish in Antiva do when they paint their faces," Zevran said croakily, dust still lodged at the back of his throat. He too was covered in the dirt of the tunnel, blonde hair darkened by the filth. "But you're less likely to kill me for looking at your rather fine bottom, obviously. Ah, that's a story to tell."

Oghren chuckled at that, swigging at his hipflask an wincing as the alcohol parched his already dry throat. "I like a story about fine arse," he said. "You're not bad, elf."

The pull of the Roads would not wait, however, and they were under a time limit to find a Paragon. "Come on," she said, pushing her tiredness to one side as she rose from the ground. "Let's move out, I don't want to linger."

"Yes, we'll miss the tea party," Alistair said wearily, dragging himself up with a groan. "Onwards fearless leader. Woe betide we need to stop for anything, obviously. Like losing a limb. Or possibly death."

She was tired, but soon found the energy to punch him squarely in the arm, making sure the blow landed before he put his armour back on. "Shh, Zevran's going to tell us a story about Dalish arse. Right, Zevran?"

Her lover threw one hand over her shoulder, a smile on his face. "If you insist. This was the time I decided to run away from the Crows during a mission, and fled Antiva City on the pretence of taking in a mark. I happened to come across a wandering Dalish tribe, and… Well, let us just say, the first meeting did not go smoothly…"

So they all listened -even Morrigan- as Zevran spun his tale of fierce, vicious Antivan elves and their stoic reaction to his 'flat eared' city boy routine. Somehow she found the strength to smile, despite what they had endured.

It might not be the best way to head into the unknown darkness, but it was a good way to start.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Review if feel like it, it's always awesome to hear! I'd love to know what you think about my over zealous urge to fill my description with gratuitous violence, apparently the jury is out on my, uh, need for ass kicking in my prose.

Thank you to Holly, Aimo and Sannox for MORE Missa Brosca art, it's in the usual page on my homepage on my profile. Holly drew the silk flower scene from this very chapter, in fact! Ah, good times. (She got sent a little teaser as I did it in honour of her, hope the personal joke isn't too vague...)


	22. The Power of Choice

Another crumbing corner of her people's empire waited for them, another day still alive.

There were more skirmishes with the darkspawn ahead, Ortan Thaig inevitably infested in corruption and dust like the rest of the Deep Roads. They were miles from both Orzammar and the surface now, guided only by maps, instinct and Oghren's impatient assumptions about where Branka should be. It wasn't ideal, but since becoming a Grey Warden Missa was discovering that nothing was.

She slumped against the wall of a forgotten house after one encounter, a brief respite from the constant battling. As she dug into her backpack to find her maps again, Morrigan shuddered into her cloak, watching the shadows dance above the roof of the thaig cautiously. "When do we leave this place?" The witch said distastefully, not keeping the revulsion out of her voice.

"The thaig? Perhaps another day," Missa replied distantly, knowing her friend hated the claustrophobia of the Roads. As she opened up the unused map Bhelen had given her, a letter fell out. It was written in a firm, neat hand and addressed to her.

Alistair picked it up curiously, then held it out so Missa could take it. "It's got a posh seal on it. From Lord Aeducan, I assume?"

"Probably." With a dirty thumbnail she ripped off the wax, finally reading the forgotten letter.

_Warden,_

_I trust this finds you in good health. I write this in the darkness of one candle, awaiting yet another meeting with the deshyrs. I can only delay so much. There is much to be done if I am to be King and you will have your troops._

_I only met Branka a handful of times. The woman was antisocial at best, reluctant to talk and hated the politics of the Assembly. I hardly blame her, but we need her back, abandoned as we are without her presence. I know she was looking for something to help reclaim our glory in the roads; my scouts have found evidence of her research of Caridin, perhaps a smith more skilled then her. Whatever you and she find, I am grateful._

_Our Paragon is missing, little sister. Bring her home. Rica believes in your courage and told me often that your quiet strength kept her going. Having met you now, I see this. Perhaps the Ancestors do too, and the coincidence of you becoming a Warden and your sister's joy and love at being a Mother was meant to be, and that you were brought both to me for a reason._

_Atrast nul tunsha,_

_Bhelen of House Aeducan._

"Oh for fuck's sake," she said loudly after reading it.

Alistair looked at her curiously. "What does it say?" He asked, squinting at the dwarvish runes.

Missa pinched her nose and looked at him. "He's just being a cave creeper is all. Calls me little sister, that only I can save our people, blah blah blah."

"Right. And this man you want to put on the throne still?"

She thought about that and snorted. "Of course. He'll do good at it, too."

Alistair sighed in exasperation and pulled himself off of the floor. "Time to get moving then, and find Oghren's wife. I'm curious actually, what kind of woman would actually marry him. Can you imagine?"

Missa thought of a stout, practical woman with calloused hands, wondering what kind of mind would willingly head into this darkness for the sake of an idea. "I've no clue," she replied. She offered her hands up and Alistair pulled her up, groaning dramatically at the exertion. "Dust Town isn't exactly a top priority for a Paragon to visit, if you see what I mean."

The pair of them walked up to Oghren, watching him examine the walls thoughtfully. "She ain't dead, but she ain't here," he muttered without looking up. Distantly he ran his hand over chisel markings again, examining the lines. "This is her work, for sure. Her scouts would've found us by now, anyway, what with the racket we're making."

"Then let's follow her trail, unless the darkspawn have pissed all over it. What is it we're looking for, Oghren? Why would Branka come here?" Missa asked quietly, thinking of Bhelen's letter.

The warrior looked into the distance ahead where Shale was irritably talking to Sten, the Qunari's voice inaudible above the airstreams of the tunnel. "This was Caridin's house when he was a Paragon, the Anvil could be here. Other then that I don't know," he replied roughly.

She could smell the lie on him like the constant stench of booze he drank from. "Right, of course. The woman you were married to for, what was it, five years? Maybe more? You didn't know what she was looking for. Right."

"Look, all you need to know is that your little King can keep whatever it is Branka wants to play with, _brand_. If he just stands back and let's her get on with it, that is. And you can go on with being comfy in his house as his woman, if what they say at Tapster's is true anyway."

"You address her as a Grey Warden. That's enough," Alistair said sharply, but Missa's reaction was to laugh, holding out a hand to her salroka to stop him from saying more.

Still laughing at his vitriol she faced him, eyes dark. " You call me a brand and a whore? Predictable little man. This is rich coming from you, obviously."

Oghren glared at her, frustrated. "All this yammering isn't finding us Branka."

"What's the anvil for, Oghren?" Missa asked again. "Whatever it is, your wife's going to be dragged by her hair back to the city, regardless of what it is. So tell me now."

Finally, reluctantly, he told her. "Golems." Shale turned to face them, curious. "The Anvil made golems. Branka wanted to reach it to make more, since the Assembly back home can't piss straight without handholding. Do you see why she left now? Not even the Shaperate knows how they are made, but Caridin did. Which you would know, if you knew your history."

Everyone turned to look at Shale unconsciously. "What?" The golem replied.

"More golems would be useful," Missa thought, recalling the time she saw Shale rip a man apart bodily.

"Would it now," Shale muttered sulkily.

"You remember anything else?" She asked the stone warrior, looking up slightly. "Seems as if reaching Branka is beneficial for you, too."

Shale's eyes dimmed slightly. "I remember a… tunnels. Darkspawn. I…" The golem shifted slightly, the sound of stone on stone scraping suddenly. "I agree with the ugly dwarf. Let's move on, yes?"

"Soddin' Ancestor's tits, Warden! Enough! Branka was here, but she ain't now. Let's go."

"You don't like the way I do things, you're more then welcome to go alone," she bluffed, hoping Oghren wouldn't call her on it. She needed him like he needed her; his knowledge of both his wife's evident insanity and the history here was far too useful to see walk away.

"I don't care how you do it, as long as we do it," and the warrior strode ahead, reaching for his hipflask once more.

Missa breathed out slowly before she moved, fighting her anger. "Ah, well. That was stirring," Zevran murmured to her left.

"'Tis predictable how a man thinks he can disarm a woman by calling her a whore, is it not?" Morrigan said, shifting the hold of the staff in her hand, as irritated as Missa.

"Pretty much," Missa replied. "Come on, let's move out."

They headed to the entrance and Missa's head twinged in a familiar maggoty pain, eyes pinching at the sudden intrusion in her head. It was always there now, a constant noise and movement in her skull, but now it was louder, insistent and clear as the Proving bells. "Oh…"

"Darkspawn, lots of darkspawn…" Was all Alistair managed.

"They… How did they sneak up on us?"

"The sodding bastards tunnelled up, Warden!" Oghren yelled, axe at the ready. "Don't piss your armour now, come on," and all of them went forward, steps hesitant, looking for the trouble when it came.

Leliana had returned from her scouting hurriedly, and Missa vowed from that point to be the one up ahead; at least the Taint would've been good for something. The bard gestured wildly, signalling that two dozen darkspawn were incoming, blue eyes gleaming in anticipation.

It was a messy fight, and they were outnumbered. She had already vaulted ahead, daggers outstretched, barking orders over her shoulder. "Morrigan, Wynne, Leliana… stay ranged and get the stragglers. The rest of you to me."

They were pinched into a circle, surrounded by the monsters she had nightmares about. When she thought they had cut a line through, Sten, Zevran and Alistair working in a swirl of blades and never missing, the ogre charged.

"Fuck," was all she managed. A hurlock's shield clipped her face and down she went, ears ringing. Missa struggled and shook herself, trying to rise, just missing Oghren's blade swing above her to decapitate her attacker.

Shale raised fists of stone towards the ogre and Missa's vision blurred again, head numb still. Sten dealt with the last of the flagging horde surround them in a frenzied shout to the Qun; as she backstabbed a flanking enemy she saw Wynne out of the corner of her eye, struggling. The mage was in trouble, raising her staff against a genlock ready to gut her.

Without thinking she ran to the older woman, watching as Leliana's blade caught the throat of their healer's attacker. As Morrigan turned to help, Missa gestured to the giant beast fighting Shale, watching as Zevran dug his daggers into the ogre's thigh. The giant roared in agony, wildly swinging in pain. Alistair caught the brunt of the movement, armour screeching in protest as he was almost knocked out.

"Mutt!" She called, Dog on her heels. The mabari dragged down the darkspawn alongside it and Missa aimed her daggers up and under corrupted armour. Morrigan cried out as another genlock aimed a strike to her shoulder, appearing from nowhere.

It was not enough. The ogre, heavily wounded, managed to smack the Qunari to one side; Alistair saw an exposed flank and took the chance to strike, despite Sten's pain. The hulking creature screamed in anguish again, and with his remaining good hand wrenched Zevran off his back, claws digging into delicate flesh. The assassin was thrown across the cave of the thaig, hitting the stone wall like a rag doll.

Trepidation was boiling in Missa's stomach at what had happened. Anger drove her forward again, feet fast. Dog ripped apart the last of the flanking attackers and as Morrigan's magic flew past her, she leapt.

With all the strength she had she drove her daggers straight into skull of the ogre, watching as it finally fell. Oghren raised his axe finally and Missa rolled away in time to watch it cleave into an exposed throat; the creature tipped forward, at last dying from the combined effort of their blades.

Zevran wasn't moving. As the last of the genlocks died from Alistair's sword, at last she ran to him. Fear was propelling her feet into a sprint, and Missa collapsed by his broken body.

She gently cradled his face in her hands, conscious of the mess of his torso and the blood pooling around her knees. Zevran murmured in Antivan, delirious in pain and whatever toxin the darkspawn attack had laced into his system with their venom and weapons.

"Zev," she said, shaking him gently. Looking up she saw the group in their own state of ruin. Morrigan had sunk to the floor, Wynne inspecting her shoulder wound. Leliana was bent over an injured Sten, waiting for their healer to show. "Shale!" Missa yelled, getting the golem's attention. "Over here."

The golem wordlessly lifted the Antivan up, leaving a trail of blood. Missa wildly searched for somewhere to put him, away from the corruption. With an angry kick she forced the door open of the nearest home in the thaig, years of dust rising to greet her.

"Don't let him sleep," Wynne murmured over her shoulder. "I will need him conscious for my work. I am still unfamiliar with darkspawn toxins here and what they do."

Missa clenched her jaw. She looked up briefly and caught Alistair's gaze, caught up in his own pain. "Right," she replied briefly, voice catching in her throat oddly, watching as Shale gently set her lover down onto the floor.

"I will wait outside. It will stay, yes?" Was all the golem said, heading to peer at an injured Sten curiously, poking the larger man gently with a stony finger.

She stroked the side of Zevran's face, thumbs grazing his cheekbones. "Zev…" she said, trying to sound firm. Leaning down further her lips grazed his ear. "Can you hear me?"

More Antivan was murmured, but Missa caught the trail end of _brasca_ and she smiled.

"That's right, Miss Damnation. And I got you in a mess, I'm sorry."

Finally he fluttered his eyes open and laughed. "You look terrible," was all he managed, and blood splattered her cheek as he coughed.

"Could say the same to you, boy," and he grinned again, breath ragged and hollow. Wynne's firm hand pushed him back down and white light blazed in the gloom of the old thaig, shadows dancing briefly in the carved rock of the roof. "You're not allowed to sleep," Missa said sternly, refusing to let fear waver her voice. "Wynne said so."

"Oh?" He replied roughly. "Who am I to refuse such a request."

"Don't speak, young man," Wynne scolded. "Concentrate on breathing slowly."

Missa gripped his shoulder as he refused to scream. Sinew, flesh and muscle was knitted to something less gored and violent; sweat dripped down them both from the heat and the exertion, numb with fear. Finally his breathing resembled something normal and Wynne wiped her brow, leaving a trail of blood there haphazardly.

"His wound will need closing, Missa."

"I… How?" She asked, finally wrenching her eyes away from Zevran's face.

"I have to see to the others. You have sewn suture stitches before, I assume?"

Distantly Missa thought of duster surgery on kitchen tables and dirty floors, then nodded. "It won't be pretty," she replied hoarsely.

Zevran mumbled something and she bent her ear to listen, his hands shakily finding her face. "Give me a heroic scar, hmm?"

Carefully she leant her head against his and frowned, trying not to show her reaction. "Something to show off to all the pretty young things?"

"Ha." He mumbled something in Antivan, then finally collapsed again. Missa looked at Wynne carefully and what the older woman saw in her eyes must've changed her opinion of her surgery skills.

"Just close the wound, Warden. I will check on Sten and the others. I will return to see what I can do. The stitches are only temporary, I cannot… I have to ration what I have, Missa. There is much to do." Wynne rose and righted herself with a steadying breath before continuing.

The canvas roll that made up one of their travel medicine bags was placed to her hand and she carefully opened it, threading a needle. "Keep still," she said roughly. Zevran opened his eyes briefly to look at her hazily. "I swear if you move and make this worse you'll be in more pain."

"Bossy. It suits you. Tell me about pain, Missa."

"Stop talking. And breathing heavily."

"Mio cara, I would if I could."

As Missa put the needle to his skin, she tried to steady her hesitation. "You want to know about pain, huh? I ever tell you about Lina?"

Zevran watched her work carefully, tawny eyes hazy. "That was your…"

"My _something_, yeah. She was a Noble Hunter from Dust Town I used to knock around with. She was- well, she is stunning. All tumbling blonde hair and a pair of tits you could smother yourself in," and with a firmer hand she began to sew shut the flap of skin on his stomach, ugly black stitches lining the cut.

"I like her already," he murmured.

"You would. Anyway, she hates men. Which is unfortunate, considering her, uh, job. But she told me once she had an interesting sideline in pain. I never knew what she meant- thought it was Lina just being crazy, but I soon worked it out."

Zevran chuckled, well aware what sort of pain she meant. "And she used to be your something, hmm? If you liked such…. proclivities I would've made-" and he hissed suddenly as she pulled too tightly. Missa poured the remains of a poultice on his wound, conscious the pain suppression Wynne gave him was wearing off.

"Not my cup of ale," she said bluntly, blotting the wetness from his wound. "Never saw the point of pleasure and pain together, or hitting someone for fun. Do enough of that already, don't need it in the bedroom."

He smiled deviously, obscured in part by the arms thrown over his head. "It has a place,_ cara_. In Antiva, the children under the Crow's care are given sweets around Feastday celebrations. They're… Ah, I do not know the Fereldian word. We called them _Andraste soffrenza_. They were little sweet balls of hard candy with a horrible centre, sour and piquant on the inside because of the almond."

Missa had no idea where he was going with his statement, but was thankful he was still conscious. "And they were given to kids?"

"Yes, because they're a lesson you see. Andraste suffered for us. And obviously, the Crows are good Andrastians and care about such matters."

"Right, so… you eat a disgusting confection in repentance? The Chantry is weird. You know my thoughts on this, right?" One more stitch lined the wound, her hands steadier now.

"Ah, my signorina brasca. That's the point. Once you get past the sweetness of the outside, you have to deal with the bitter almond. That you can't ignore."

She put the last stitch in, trying to tie up her work firmly without hurting him. "My sister always told me, 'can't have the treat without the meat,' to try and make me eat the disgusting stew she would cook. The treat was usually a piece of lycan bread," Missa replied softly.

"This is different, in a way," he replied, looking at her suture stitching then. A too pale finger ran over the jagged line cautiously. "It's there to teach that pleasure is fleeting, you see."

"That's, uh… This was given to children to work out? They grow up expecting pleasure to only come with pain, never separate?" Missa thought of her sad little childhood and the handful of memories she protected from the misery, safe and separate from the grime of Dust Town.

Zevran was frowning, fighting sleep. "Such is our way. I always used to crunch down on them to break it up so I could spit out the almond, of course."

Missa put away the sewing things and slumped next to him, covering up his naked chest with her bedding roll left there by Leliana. "Sounds like something I would do. Huh, took you for a swallower."

He reacted in a fit of laughter, regretting it as pain laced his sides. She realising now she was holding his hand tightly and let go. Missa was unsure how to act, her own inertia annoying.

"I've swallowed many bitter things in my time, trust me. But you were duly slapped by the _Casa Madre_ if she caught you not eating the almond, you were meant to savour it- treats were rare. Only the children who worked hard enough were allowed them in the first place, you see…" and his voice trailed off, eyes rolling back. Missa poked his forehead and he woke briefly, lids heavy. "Let me sleep, cara. Aren't you satisfied enough?"

"What do you mean by the working hard enough part?" She asked, ignoring his question.

Tentatively he reached for her, a hand around the curve of her neck. Missa wound into him closer so he wouldn't strain himself getting to her, body now pressed against his, mindful of his injuries. "They tested us around Feast Day, the children. Usually fighting, sometimes a matter of endurance. The winners would get the soffrenza."

She clenched her jaw tightly, anger boiling in her chest. Instead she kept calm, because she knew pity would never go down well with her Antivan. "You know what I get angry at, Zevran?" She replied quietly.

"Ah, what keeps you angry, cara? That spark that keeps you going," and he let his hand fall against the nape of her neck, weary again.

"Power. Power makes me angry. Not the reason of it, but those that have it. You and I… We never had much of a choice to start with, things were dictated to us. And I find the more I am here, the more I'm this bloody Grey Warden everyone expects me to be, well. I have choice. For once in my Stone-cursed life _I have a choice_."

His response was to laugh again. It quickly turned into a cough and Missa tried not to flinch in reaction at the wracking sounds he was making. "Very noble of you, cara. What do you expect to do with this choice of yours, hmm? What makes you think you have one in the first place down here in this filth? I've seen and killed powerful men, Missa. I know how they think, how power to them is something to take and abuse."

The Berahts, Lady Daces and the sundry of merchants and nobles who spat on her brand came to her then. She even thought of the surfacers who thought her nothing, Loghain's treachery and the human's concealed contempt at what she was evident in their faces. "You think I haven't seen what it does, Zevran?"

"Then you understand the lip service. It is easy to say you'll save the world and make Andraste Herself weep at your charity when you have nothing. But when you suddenly have all this wealth and choice in your hands, somehow you get selective."

"I'm not Dust Town anymore and I don't see that. Things aren't the same now, Zev, and I'll be damned again if I see that taken away from me. I can see that those that were me… I can do something. I can speak up where they can't."

Zevran upturned his mouth in a smile, eyes still closed. "And what about that boy we came across earlier? What choice did you give him in your newfound power to choose for others, hmm?"

He was of course talking about Ruck, the half-tainted, half-crazed unfortunate scavenger they met before the darkspawn attack. Alistair had said he had spoken with his Mother, a notion that made her raise her eyebrows at the time, wondering how out of all the Deep Roads they had found him.

Whatever was there, whatever streak of what made him who he was gone. Missa saw only corrupted madness, the taint destroying what made him dwarva. She had cut his throat and held him as his bled out, his life in her hands; Wynne had walked away in disgust, refusing to take part.

"You judge me on that?" She said, breath hot against his ear. "After what you said?"

"You misunderstand," Zevran replied tiredly. "Your power and freedom weren't there, no pretty words dressed up as choice."

"He would've become worse then death if I… The taint already got to him, I… it was-"

"What, mercy? Who's to say you did not have that before your time as a Grey Warden, hmm? You say that mercy is defined by your options, but sometimes… No, not so simple as that. We all die- not many have the luxury of that choice, not really. Not when it comes down to it…"

"Zev," and she shook him then, worried he was slipping in to unconsciousness. "Zev, come on, no sleeping. Zev," and she startled when Wynne touched her shoulder and Missa pulled away, giving the mage room to work.

"It is fine, Warden. He will be fine. I suggest we rest for the moment, while there is time."

"Not for long," Missa said quickly. "It's not safe."

Shakily she rose, finally checking on the others. Standing next to Alistair she rubbed her eyes tiredly, Zevran's words heavy on her chest. "Is he…?" he started to say.

"Wynne says he'll be fine," she replied brusquely.

Awkwardly Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, unsure what else to say. Squeezing it once he dropped away, hoping the gesture was enough. "He'll be up and saying some Antivan joke I won't get soon, looking all smug and… Zevranish. 'Ah it's just a scratch_ Alistaiiiirrrr_,' or something."

Missa snorted, grinning wryly. "Probably. Bastard." As Alistair yawned beside her, she bumped against him affectionately. "I'll guard, one of us has to stay up. Get some sleep, salroka. Pointless both of us being awake."

Oghren joined her outside the house as Alistair stumbled and collapsed on his bedroll, too tired to put his tent up or take of his armour. She could see that Leliana had tried to set up camp, an attempt at humanity in the middle of the hovelling remains of her people.

If Missa was honest, she desperately wanted to crawl back to Zevran and sleep by his side, tired as Alistair. Instead she leant against the wall with Oghren, the pair of them standing sentry in silence. Occasionally the warrior would shift on his feet, impatient at waiting.

She had no idea how anyone could cope with the reek of the contamination and the noise down here constantly. She was a Grey Warden partly out of choice, but mostly out of survival. Become a slowly tainted Warden or instant death as a duster if she remained in Orzammar? Not much of selection for her at the time, but here in the Deep Roads it felt like a death sentence still.

"I don't get why it's cold," she said conversationally, huddling into her armour to push away her thoughts. "It's as chilly as the surface right now."

The warrior snorted and leant against his axe. "Because you're a soft duster is used to the lava vents heating the city. Here there's no funnels to circulate the warmth, and a man's balls could freeze up and fall off if you don't keep moving."

Missa chuckled and jumped up and down briefly to get warmer. She could feel the darkspawn out there, a pushing presence in her mind, but not close enough. It was not safe enough for her not to relax, however, and she needed a distraction. "We're further down then I've ever been," she replied. "I'm working blind now, and the maps are becoming vaguer."

"We're near the end of Ortan thaig," Oghren said in a grunt. "After that, well. We'll find some clue of where Branka went. She took near three hundred people with her. They won't leave it as they find, if you see my meaning."

"What was she like?" She asked after awhile. "Your wife, I mean. I was a lowly kid brand with no hopes of ever seeing a paragon when she was in the city last, so…"

Oghren snorted and adjusted the hold of his axe. "She was a dwarf. Nosey, aren't you?"

"Trying to find out what a paragon was like, is all."

"You and the entire Assembly. Why else do you think she fled?" She looked over the other man then, and could see the worry etched into his face. As he noticed her gaze he grimaced, finally shifting away from Missa in creaky, protesting armour.

"I don't blame her for that, I could quite happily push the deshyrs into the lava," Missa replied, thinking of nest of deepstalkers that made up the deshyrs. "But she left to find Caradin's secrets, right?"

"Yeah. We'll get the anvil for her, and I'll get her home. And then the soddin' city can finally remember to wipe it's own arse while she's there, heh."

"Think she'll be pleased to see us?" She asked diplomatically, trying not to mention the fact he was left alone.

"Ha. Sure. She'll throw a welcome party. They'll be a right knees up and we'll all go home roaring drunk." Missa didn't know what to say about that, so shrugged, leaving them to silence once more. After awhile, Oghren spoke up again. "What about you and that elf?"

She pinched her nose in irritation, aware that he was unsubtly shifting the gaze of the conversation in case she pushed about Branka some more. "What about him?"

"I mean, you, heh, let him buck that bronto if you see what I'm getting at."

"Subtle Oghren, real subtle."

"It's one of my charms. I do a really good nug impression if you give me a couple of shakes to remove my armour and-"

"It's okay. No one needs to see little Oghren right now. Least of all me."

Oghren looked serious then. "I suppose, it's cold out. You wouldn't see the full glory."

"Shame. No really," and to his credit Oghren chuckled.

"You'll be back for a portion, lady. They all come back to ol' Oghren."

"There's so much wrong there, I don't know where to start. So I won't," and she crossed her arms in a grin. It wasn't much of an apology between the pair of them; they had argued and shouted at each other, but it would be forgotten until the next spat.

The saids and the unsaids were already forgotten. As they talked over the fractured remains of their camp, it was enough. She felt dwarva again, even here in the dust and corruption of her people's former glory. She was surviving still, despite it all.

* * *

Ortan Thaig was huge. Missa tried to imagine what it would look like pieced together and clean of the filth, but her mind couldn't grasp what was lost. She was unable to associate the now to the then, even if the shadows of grandeur still clung to the buildings and was visible beneath the corruption.

Caridin's home, the biggest of them all in the thaig, greeted them defiantly, standing still. It was well guarded; golems from nowhere appeared as they dared to step on the threshold, stone guardians intent on destroying the intruders.

They were dispatched with cleanly. Shale stood the ruined rubble of one, curious at the remains. Gently the golem lifted the broken head of one of her kind, lighted eyes flickering curiously. "Where was its control rod?" She asked, poking the dull eye sockets. "Who had it?"

Missa frowned, eyebrows raised. "No one knows, Shale," she replied. "What is known about golems is buried down here. It's why we are here, in part," she lied, carefully putting a hand on the golem's huge arm.

"If _It_ insists," and Shale dropped the head. The thing bounced across the filthy ground, skidding to a halt against the main door of the house.

"Let's see if we can find something," she said to the group. "Who's for a little light burglary? I'm thinking this requires some breaking and entering," and Missa grinned as she thought of all the times she snuck into homes along the Commons and Diamond Quarter.

"Not so much the breaking, but plenty of the entering," and Zevran stood next to her. He was still bandaged beneath his armour, but Wynne's magic was strong. "Make of that what you will," he murmured, and she rolled her eyes.

Leliana nodded and adjusted the hold of her bow. "I will come also."

"A Chantry sister engaging in petty crime? Ah! What is the world coming to," Zevran said wryly. "My perceptions are shattered, my dear. How will I cope? I'm disappointed. You were meant to be the pure, outstanding, moral-"

"Sorry, do you hear something? All I can hear is insubstantial noise," the Bard replied lightly. Her face was very much pinched in anger, despite the smile.

"That will do," Missa replied. "The three of us will head in, the rest can wait. Set up camp briefly, Alistair. We'll be back out soon."

The main door was pushed open and they meandered through, all unsure what they were looking for. Footprints left in the dust showed that they weren't the only ones to come here, and going on instinct Missa followed them.

The stench of corpses left to rot without cover ended their trail. They were in a storage room, surrounded by the wealth and opulence expected of a Paragon. Two bodies -mostly skeletal remains, but patches of flesh were still visible- were semi-cleaned by insects, cause of death unknown.

With a hand over her mouth she leant over a corpse and pulled off a plain shield, holding it out to Leliana. "Go show this to Oghren and see if he can confirm it as House Branka, please. We'll carry on." The bard disappeared, leaving them to the dead.

Missa pulled what looked like a key on a chain from a skeletal hand, holding her breath as she disturbed the corpse further to dislodge it. They both walked forward apprehensively. "I see lots of shiny things," her lover said in a grin, oblivious to the stench. "Finally we see some treasure, hmm?"

As she stepped on a loose panel on the floor, something shot from the side. Zevran dived for her middle and they both fell down with a grunt, the tips of the darts aimed at her head imbedding in the wall opposite.

"Well, that's interesting," Missa said blandly. "Not seen that before."

Zevran looked down at their tangled legs and leant on his elbow. "From this position I can think of a few things to show you. But let's start with a thank you, hmm?"

Missa cautiously sat up, his body still pressed against hers. She kissed him firmly, intent on rising, but hands pulled her back down for another kiss, rolling her over slightly so she straddled his legs. "I'm tempted," she replied in a smirk. "But somehow the scent of rotting corpses and that this floor has more panels to trigger kind of kills the mood."

Slowly she rose up and Zevran followed, raising his eyebrow. "Oh. You're no fun. Where's the woman who ravished me in a temple, hmm? And the one who rather naughtily had her wicked way right in the middle of camp, and then that one time when she showed her gratitude at my, ah, skills by getting on her knees during patrol and-"

"_Enough_, Zevran."

"Fine, fine," he said in a grin. "You owe me though. Of course."

It didn't take long for the pair of them to work out the floor pattern. It was a puzzle of sorts, and required a bit of athleticism to hop on the alternating panels. Going out of sequence meant something would be triggered, and Missa was thankful her armour was thick enough to keep out a whittling dart clip to her shoulder.

Using the key she rescued from the corpse Missa opened the main door of the room. A study with a smithery attached to it greeted them in the gloom, enchanted torches spluttering to life as they stepped over the threshold.

Missa looked around curiously as Zevran ran a finger in the inch thick dust from a chest, eyes very much on a gold plated statue staring down at them impassively. She picked up the book on the main table and rubbed the dirt from it, recognising the seal of Caridin on the front. Zevran went over to her and she showed him what she found. "Oh, a book," he replied in disbelief, lifting up a large ruby to the groggy light of a lamp.

"Something to do with Caridin I assume," she said, watching her lover pocket the gem casually. Missa flipped it open haphazardly to read a random section, the old, clipped runes difficult to decipher:

_940, 45th day, 5th year of the reign of King Valtor: I have done it. The vision the ancestors gave me has come to fruition. Today a man sat up from my forge, a man of living stone and steel. I called him golem, for the legend of those great statues animated by the dead. They are our future and our salvation._

"This is where this Branka's obsession is housed, yes? Here, in this room." His words brought her back to the present, head swarming with thoughts of what a golem could do.

"Yes. Probably what those poor sods behind us were looking for, I suppose. But it's not here." Missa flipped to another random page and read again while Zevran tried to prise open the locked cabinet, her mind elsewhere.

_940, 73rd day, 5th year of the reign of King Valtor: I have asked for volunteers. Some few answered, men of the Warrior Caste, younger sons with no property, no chance for marriage. They want to defend Orzammar from the horrors these humans have unleashed. They want to live forever in a body stronger than the finest armor. They do not ask to speak with those who have gone before._

_I will approach the Assembly and petition the right to ask the casteless. Their bodies and presence may shame the Stone, but I can make them into beings greater then themselves. Their spirit will not shame the Ancestors in a body of steel._

Decisively Missa shut the book with a snap, the words burning on her chest. "Let's get going,"

Leliana made to join them and they both shouted a warning before the bard set foot on the floor. Carefully the pair extracted themselves through the room again, mindful again of the panels. As she left the house, the book's words weighed heavily on her chest. Zevran deliriously had spoke to her of choice and options under injury, but she knew as a duster there wasn't a hope of neither.

What she had stumbled on, however, was a chance.

* * *

From Ortan Thaig they made their way to the Deep Trenches, home of the Legion of the Dead. Still they fought an endless sprawl of darkspawn, bouts and skirmishes more frequent. Missa spent her down time reading Caridin's journal slowly, digesting the words of a Paragon gradually thanks to the archaic language used and the fact her duster education was threadbare at best.

Zevran curved around her, lifting the book out of her arms in their tent. "I was reading that," she snapped irritably, reaching for the journal again. Her lover held it away from her reach, a smile on his lips.

"What's more interesting in here then what I can offer, I wonder?" He didn't bother opening it; the dwarvish runes were foreign to his eyes, but he was genuinely curious at what had her enthralled.

She rose to reach for her misplaced book and he pulled back. As she leant forward again he caught her mouth in a kiss, Caridin's journal still out of reach. It worked and Missa was distracted enough to be rolled over, hands working their way under her armour while he deepened the kiss.

"I'm covered in filth, not washed in a week and I probably stink," she said against his lips. "Hardly at my most attractive."

The book was placed safely out of reach still. Gently he pushed back dirty hair from her face, noticing the frown and tiredness etched deeply in her face. Missa wriggled slightly to accommodate his weight, legs entwining with his.

"So am I," he whispered in a grin. "Let's be filthy together." It was quick and quiet, their tumble, both half in their armour still. She held a hand over her mouth to stop her from crying out, Zevran clamping his mouth against her neck to do the same.

As he half held her against his body, Missa leant over and put the book on his chest, trying to find her page again. "If you were offered a chance of power and you have nothing, literally nothing, would you take it?"

Zevran rose slightly, raising an eyebrow curiously at the journal resting on his body. "That's too vague," he replied. "What do you mean?"

"Imagine you are scum. You are told you are nothing everyday, that it would be better if you were never born."

He was no fool, and knew what she was referencing. "All right. And what power would you be offering me, lowly peon that I am?"

Missa pursed her lips, unable to say exactly what she wanted. "A chance at a new life, but with a price. Like the Legion of the Dead, only…"

Zevran kissed her, a smile on his lips. "Then I would take it. But I would want to know who would be holding my strings first, such as they are."

It was enough for her. Missa put down the book again and was drawn back into his embrace to get some sleep, if only to dream of the crawling Blight in her head. Unsure exactly what he said to settle her he shrugged inwardly, flipping through the filched journal on the sly by the lit gloom of the tent.

The diagrams jotted in between the journal entries soon answered his accurate guesswork, and he settled around her to hold her loosely. When she woke she would thank him in her own way for settling the demons in her head. The ones that weren't created by the Archdemon, anyhow.

* * *

Another day passed, or so Missa judged. The noise of the darkspawn was louder and harder to pinpoint in her head, a constant sound that was now pushing out all thoughts. Breathing calming she found her stars behind her eyes, the imaginary pricks of light drowning out the roar of the horde momentarily.

It was not enough, however. Staggering along the guttered remains of Bowzammar's ruins, it became apparent what was causing the echoing cacophony. Alistair's face, grimly set, watched as the Arch Demon circled the roof, thousands of Darkspawn following.

Missa screwed her eyes again at the noise, the murmuring now too much. It was a twisted lullaby of sorts, an endless song. _The Calling,_ Duncan had called it. She feared it, if this what she was and would become.

Unaware she was moving she was pulled down by Alistair, feeling the pinch of his gauntlets through the layers of her armour. Shrugging him off she followed the horde in the Trenches with her eyes, watching the Arch Demon move out finally. The roar of the monster was in tandem with the sound in her head, an everlasting noise.

The last of them left, heading now to the surface. Looking up she saw their presence was not unnoticed. A small band of Legion of the Dead members watched them, intent on working out why they were there. As Missa tried to speak the frontline surged and another battle began, interrupted by the very thing both their organisations were intent on killing.

When there seemed to be no more and the enemy gave them a pause, they stopped. The leader finally spoke to her, removing his helmet so she could see him. "Well, you can fight. Whoever you are."

She looked at her companions before speaking, all of them gleaming with sweat and exhilaration from the skirmish. "I'm Missa of the Grey Wardens. This is Warden Alistair."

"Figures. I'm Kardol of the Legion of the Dead. I'll extend my camp to you tonight, if you want it."

"Thank you," Wynne interjected. "That is most kind."

Kardol shrugged, still watching Missa. "What you doing down here?" He asked brusquely.

"There's a Blight. And King Endrin's dead, if you didn't know. Not sure what news you get," she replied, just as blunt.

Kardol snorted in derision and turned on his heel. Missa followed as he lead them back to his base, walking quickly to catch up. "Let me guess. The Assembly needs a ruler, and you've been sent down here to-"

"You seen Branka?" Oghren interrupted gruffly, irritated by the legionnaire's attitude. "Kind of hard to miss. Came here with her entire house. You know, a Paragon."

"Hmm," Kardol said, ignoring the warrior. "The Assembly needs a legend. Not my job," he replied gruffly. "I won't be taking any orders from snot-nosed Wardens and their drunk associates either. I will be holding the line until the deshyrs find their arse with a map and crown a King though. I answer to no one else."

Missa bit her tongue in anger, but Alistair spoke up first. "There's a Blight. Surely that's important enough to help. Didn't you see the big dragon? Arch Demon, kind of hard to miss."

Kardol laughed. It was a noise that made the camp look around, Legion members looking at the newcomers curiously. "Surfacer problem, Warden. Blights take so long because we dwarves," and at that he shot Missa a glare, "keep the darkspawn thinned. Our order, our constant battle means you get respite between Blights. No, that's your setback, human. Best of luck to you."

"But you can help!" She put a hand on Alistair's arm, silencing him.

"Thanks for your hospitality," Missa replied, knowing that she wouldn't get anymore out of the leader, too exhausted to argue. "We won't be staying long, we have a Paragon to find."

Kardol nodded once, appraising her. "Feed 'em and show 'em Legion hospitality, boys and girls," finally leaving them at the camp.

Missa watched the site from her slumped position of the fire, relief filling her at the momentary respite from the fighting. She was exhausted, hungry and sore, muscles screaming in agony at the constant push she was forcing her body into.

The Legion viewed their new found generosity with amusement; new people were a source of entertainment, suddenly. The battle hardened men and women were showing off, laughing, glad for the company.

"Here," said the small blonde dwarf next to her. His beard was neatly combed under his helmet, his face tattoos a lurid blue. Missa smiled in thanks as he pushed a bowl of something warm into her hands, steam rising to greet her face. "Don't question too hard what it is, just eat."

She sipped from the bowl in a laugh. "Trust me, I've eaten worse. Probably."

Alistair looked up from his position on the floor, just as tired. "It's true, most of it made by her hands too."

The legionnaire fixed him a warm grin and offered him a portion. "Oh? Sounds like a story. I like stories. You look a talker, too."

Zevran and Leliana watched the flirting with amusement, and so it seemed did the rest of the Legion. "Careful now, he'll subject you to one of his poems, Warden," the female legionnaire said to Alistair. Her bright green eyes flickered briefly to Missa, curious at her presence with all the surfacers. "He's our story keeper, you know."

"A bit of culture in the Deep Roads? Brilliant," he replied. "Missa only shows me darkspawn and creepy dead things down here. What can I say, I'm deprived."

"Oh, culture. Sure, human. Plenty of culture down here. Want him to recite you the one about the pink nug? When Poet gets going there's even a special puppet show, ain't that right, Poet?"

"Heh. Even I know that one," Oghren muttered, sipping from his hipflask noisily.

"Still don't want to see it Oghren," Missa said quickly, meaning every word.

"Ignore the old battle axe," the blonde warrior spat back, glaring at the older woman. "No one needs to know about that."

"Aaw, what's up Poet? Stage fright? Poor little nugget. Actually having seen your poor little nugget, I completely understand, eh?" Everyone in the camp laughed, even Poet reluctantly grinning at the teasing.

Missa was beginning to feel more dwarva again. There was with hot food in her belly and the warmth of the fire was at her back, both making her quiet enough to watch the Legion and her companions interact. Zevran sat next to her and pushed his leg against hers; she looked up at him in a grin and he returned it, cleaning and sharpening his blades quietly and waiting, knowing she wanted to talk about something.

"So," Missa started to say, tracing the pattern of his armour distantly along his knee.

"So," he replied in amusement, whetstone scraping against the silverite of his daggers efficiently.

"You remember what you said, you know… About, uh, choice."

"We can talk about swallowing again if you wish, that was amusing. "

She shrugged and started to clean her nails with her knife, aware the others were listening in. "You know what I mean."

"I said a great many things, as I recall. What specifically did you have in mind? Is this about last night's little conversation also?" He said in an undertone.

Missa refused to look at him, jaw tight. "Yeah."

Carefully Zevran put down the blades, then placed his hands over hers to stop her from fidgeting. "A person's options are limited, choice, however, is not. When you were a Carta associate, you did not have much of an option, yes? But you still had the choice to stay or go. Of course, going would result in even less options, but there we are."

"So you think it's the same, even now?"

"Of course. With power comes notoriety, and more strings for you to dance under. It's why we're here for your future King, hmm? And I of course do not mean Alistair, but don't assume you won't be sweetening Arls and Banns once we are there, dancing for politics."

Alistair put down his bowl with a clatter, laughing suddenly. "Dancing? I'll become King by dancing, that's going to work, obviously. Loghain's treachery will be forgotten once they see how pretty we all are in our party dresses."

"As if we weren't notorious enough," Missa murmured. "Money is power," she said louder, thinking of her angry jealousy the upper caste's wealth and how a duster's life was brought and sold.

Zevran appraised her with a look, aware where the comment came from. "No, knowledge is power. Money and wealth brings a comfort and security few can have, but it won't stop a blade, not in the end. When you get down to it, we all die, no power in this world can't protect you from that. How, however, is a choice few still have the luxury of."

"Cheery," Alistair replied, looking at the pot for a second portion. "You Crows must be a blast at parties."

"You have no idea. You can have anything you want as a Crow, my friend. Wine, women, men… For a price, of course. Such are the options given to you, so you learn to take the good when it comes with both hands. To spit out the almond when no one is looking, obviously."

"Almond?" Alistair asked wryly. "You two speak in code, I swear to the Maker. Do I want to know, or-"

Missa interrupted with a growl of frustration, tired and aching from the constant push still. The conscientious duty of what she was supposed to be was louder then the darkspawn chatter in her head, an annoying buzz that refused to leave her. "I don't buy it."

"As Wardens, surely you see it so very clearly down here surrounded by the very thing your order swears to kill? There should be plenty of almond spitting when there's the chance, considering how life is here."

Missa scratched the hair under her helm distantly, frowning still. "You're not making any sense."

"He never does," Alistair muttered.

"Then I'll make it simpler. Always pick your master, cara. I can think of no worse fate, to have that choice taken from you. "

"Bronto shit," the female legionnaire said brusquely. Missa thought they were being subtle in their conversation, but the woman was apparently listening in.

"Oh?" Zevran said neutrally, removing his hands from Missa's slowly. "What say you then, ah…? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Everyone calls me Battleaxe, but my name is Elir to you."

"Well, Elir. What does a member of the Legion think, hmm?"

"I choose death, elf. And choose it some more. Bollocks to your do or die shit, frankly. Down here it's more simpler. I'm dead. We're dead."

"Dead dusters walking," Missa said quietly, thinking of her life with Leske. So simple, then. She knew in a way that she was fighting for survival, and took death calmly because it was the way of life. She fought for food, for a job, for the right to sleep somewhere.

Zevran swept his gaze over her, a faint smile on his lips. "Funny. I must say, you look alive to me," he replied.

"I ain't no duster," Elir spat back at Missa, ignoring Zevran's dig. "I'm Legion. Show some respect."

"So you're dead, then?" Missa asked, curious.

"Very much. There's one path, and one path only. None of this soddin' noise about who holds the options and who decides. I'm dead, end of discussion."

"Well," Zevran said rising from his seat with an eyebrow raised. "I've seen many dead men and women in my time, but might I add you're the loveliest I've come across?"

"Oh look, Battleaxe," Poet said from his position across the fire, seeing the chance to goad. "The surfacer thinks you're lovely."

Even Missa chuckled at that. Elir face was a mixture of scars and tattoos. Her shaved head had a raised welt across the crown, evidence of a vicious attack. "I'm sure he'll be disappointed my dance card is filled."

Zevran made a show of bowing to the gruff, older woman. Seeking death was not a topic he had patience in dealing with at the moment, so aimed for a more deflective line of conversation. "Oh, no dancing? And here's me thinking we already did the la garrotte with the darkspawn earlier beautifully."

Leliana giggled at the imagery of a genlock doing an Orlesian jig, blue eyes sparkling by the fire. "A garrotte of sorts, yes Zev."

" I shall take my presence elsewhere, while I still have a shred of manly dignity left. Maybe I should speak with that Kardol fellow, hmm? Such striking tattoos…"

With a sly wink he left Missa alone, daggers now sheathed on his back. She turned and watched the fire again, chin on her hands, not even sure what she was thinking about. "He's wrong," Elir said after while, watching her brooding.

"In what regards?" Missa replied carefully, turning to face her slightly.

Elir pointed to the brand on Missa's cheek. "We're all in the Trenches for our own reasons, but when we're here they're forgotten. They don't belong to us anymore. Down here you got a chance, you see."

"Chance at what?" She replied, cautiously fumbling for her words.

"To be whatever them above says you can't be. You're a Warden, you do the same as us. Don't let the soddin' bastards grind you down, I say. Here you're better then them."

Silence crackled around them, and Alistair raised his water cup in a wry toast. "Well, here's to sodding bastards then."

It was enough, and the silence broke into laughter, mugs raised to Alistair's toast. Missa smiled, despite the heavy words on her chest still. Zevran caught her eye and she nodded, wondering if he had heard the legionnaire's brusque statement.

"That deserves a second portion. No meat though," the blonde Legionnaire replied to Alistair. "And you call me Poet," he said wryly to Elir. "Quite a speech, Battleaxe."

"Shush nugget," the older woman said in a irritated hand wave.

The silence washed over them again, the excitement and newness of the surfacers dying down. "If you're a poet," Leliana said to the aforementioned Legionnaire, "then I'm sure you will be interested in a few on my tales, no? I am one also, of sorts. I have a few poems of my own to share, if you wish."

As Leliana used her charm of the brusque, gruff Legionnaires, Missa dug out Caridin's journal again. By the light of the fire she read his diary, finally setting a piece of information that she had been carrying around with her all day, watching Shale push the darkspawn corpses over the edge of Bowzammar's bridge.

Though she was tired, she read on. One line stood out for her, amused that she would be reading it now:

_They come to me for a second chance. I will change them, these sons and daughters of the Stone. Nothing comes without a price, a forfeit. Nothing so great may be achieved without sacrifice._

With a snap she closed the book, ready to head deeper into the Trenches to find the legends of not one Paragon, but two.

There was a price for everything, she knew.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A longer update then usual due to my computer harddrive dying and having to rewrite most of this chapter by scratch.

The candied almonds -I called then Andraste Soffrenza- actually exist. They're called Jordan Almonds and used as wedding favours now. They are also as disgusting as I say they are, as traditionally fresh almonds are used instead of the nice dried ones associated with the sweet now.

Thank you to Holly and Sarah for artwork, betaing and support.


	23. Finally Dying

To dream and see stars was something Missa was glad of. She saw darkspawn running along a corrupted field -of course she would- but to see them under a clear winter's night sky was somehow comforting, a starkly foreign image compared to the putridness and tainted, fractured mess that made the Deep Roads.

The dragon she saw leave the Trenches was flying, the landscape below moving rapidly. As it descended through cloud and mist, the tips of its wings touched water, almost for the joy of it.

Darkspawn waited on the shoreline, eyes as enraptured as she at the beauty of flight. Slowly it descended and landed elegantly, wings folding as primly as a lady's fan against its back as the horde roared. A horned, spiked head tilted to one side slowly, knowing Missa watched.

The Archdemon screamed in her head and she finally woke up, sweat dripped down her face. She had fallen asleep by the cooking fire of the Legion's camp, no one having the heart to move her. Wiping her mouth she rose, only to be scrutinized by Morrigan, her golden eyes curious.

"What do you dream of?" The witch asked, tilting her head slowly to one side, a mimic of what Missa had seen in her dream.

She rinsed her face with her precious drinking water before speaking, throat still tight at what she had seen, unsure how to answer the question without seeming weak. "The Archdemon, always. It's outside now. By water… maybe Lake Calenhad?" As an afterthought, she muttered: "and yet, here we are."

"And this Archdemon," Morrigan said, not quite looking at her now. "What is it like?"

"You seriously want to know?" Missa snapped in reply, voice rough. "You saw it yourself, surely. When we saw it fly out of the Trenches earlier."

"I am… curious of your connection. 'Tis an unusual situation you must find yourself in, to dream so vividly of the thing your order is vowed to kill."

She snorted at that, an eyebrow quirked. "Not really. I'd dream about cows if I were farmer, I'm sure. It's the way it is."

Morrigan rose quietly, righting a fold of her robes. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"It was… joyful," Missa said quietly, answering her question finally. "I couldn't look away. The Archdemon was-" she paused suddenly, embarrassed. "Well. You could say it was beautiful, in a sick, twisted way."

"Beautiful, you say? Interesting." Morrigan shouldered her backpack and looked at her thoughtfully before speaking again. "Do you know why Blights happen?"

Missa shook herself before rising, ignoring the strange twist in her gut. "Alistair spoke a little of it, but I think he knows about as much as I know. We're both fumbling our way through this," she replied curtly, unsure what her friend was aiming for. "Chop off the head and it's over, pretty much. Kill the Archdemon and it ends."

"As simple of that? Of course."

She frowned at the witch, mind slowly waking up. "Why do _you_ ask?"

Morrigan smiled, an eyebrow raised. "'Tis no matter. I was… curious, of course. You were talking in your sleep."

With an awkward gesture Missa rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed at being caught doing such a thing. "Right. Of course. Anyway," she replied, finding her backpack and shouldering it, "let's go find the others before they pine away without our presence."

The witch chuckled and walked with her. "Indeed, considering. I saw Alistair talk to this Legion's leader to explain how your cause overlaps with theirs and it is of vital importance that they join."

"Oh, Stone," Missa said in a groan, knowing no good would come of it. "Really? That's going to be… _urgh_."

"See you're up, then, sleeping beauty," a voice said to her right. Turning she saw it was Battleaxe, who Missa knew had been watching her interaction with Morrigan quietly.

"Thanks for your hospitality, if the ingrates I call friends haven't already done so," Missa replied to the Legionnaire.

"We used the best silver too," Poet added, putting his gloves on with a grin to stand next to his friend.

"Legion! Legion salute," Battleaxe called. The surrounded Legionnaires lifted their weapons up then, trilling a warcry, the sound loud enough to wake the ancestors themselves. "Good fight, Warden," Battleaxe offered, her hand open in a warrior's salute. Missa mirrored the older woman's gesture and grinned.

"It always is," and promptly left the Legion even more determined to find her people's Paragon; if they could do what they do away from the stalker's nest of city politics, then so could she.

* * *

Missa knew Kardol was watching them file along the bridge of Bownammar with impassive, stony eyes, well aware of her tired acceptance of his refusal. Alistair was angry still at Kardol's denial to bolster their effort, but knew enough of Missa to know that voicing his grievances with her would get him nowhere.

Even Zevran was beginning to let the grimness of the Deep Roads effect him. Missa was more unsettled by his words about choice and options previously then concerned of his quietness, and was trying to find a way to work out what to say to him to push the matter further. His opinion sat uncomfortably heavy on her chest still, unsure behind the intent of his reasoning.

Missa cleared her throat to speak and he smiled slightly, knowing she was fumbling to speak to him about something. "Oubliettes," she said finally. "I remember what you said to me, before we came to Orzammar. A dark hole where you're sent to be forgotten about. You remember, we spoke of them. We're in one now and we're surviving, and you said, you told me-"

"That I _lived, _signorina." Zevran replied quickly, cutting her off before she threw his words back in his face. "That is what I said."

"We're not Legion," she said. "We're not dead. We're here out of choice, no one has forced us. We walked into our oubliette out of free will, you see."

"This again?" Zevran said in a smile. "Ah, the circles we talk ourselves into. Do you really believe that?" He asked, looking sideways at her.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm here for a reason."

"No doubt," he said wryly. They walked in silence, Zevran picking his words over carefully before he spoke again. "Tell me something, my Warden. You spoke so profoundly over my bleeding body that you would defend the weak and give them a chance, no? Where is it in this hole?"

"I never said that exactly," she said, rolling her aching shoulders suddenly.

"You told me you could '_speak for the voiceless'_ now, if I remember correctly. That you could give them a choice where others could not."

Missa frowned at her lover, mouth tight with anger. She exhaled a breath once before speaking, refusing to snap at him. "Look, I'm not going to go out and feed and clothe every beggar I come across or give my worldly goods away, but if I stand back and do nothing, what kind of person am I? I may as well be back in my hovel in Dust Town cracking skulls for a living again, fighting for my right to breathe. That the Grey Wardens pulled me out of my shithole for nothing. "

Zevran stretched suddenly. "This Bhelen, who sent you here… what decisions do you think you get to make in his name, hmm?"

"I don't understand what you mean," she replied frankly.

"What choice is there _here_, if I may be frank enough to ask you? Here you are, dancing for a corrupt politician so beautifully under his strings, dirtying your hands so he doe not to have to. And yet, the Blight moves on without us on the surface. Tell me, how is that different to your life as a Carta associate, how does it differ from mine as a Crow? Where is your power to speak for others, when it seems you barely have the choice to yourself?"

She looked around carefully before she replied, finally understanding his reticence. "That's what you think? That's the reason I'm here, because _Bhelen_ is playing me?"

Zevran's face was firmly masked, refusing to show his emotions. He bowed slightly, movements elegant still despite the filth of the Trenches that clung to his armour. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, I see I have offended you. Believe me, that was not my intention. We can go back to talking about forgotten dark holes, if you like. I've seen a few in my time."

"Oh please," Missa said curtly, dismissing his flirty duplicity instantly. "Has it occurred to you that I'm here not out of obligation or duty, but because I _want _to be? That I believe I'm making the right decisions and sticking to them? Do you think so little of me that you think I allow myself to be manipulated and used still? That's as bad as Alistair assuming I'm only here because my sister is Bhelen's whore, and I let my connection to her shape my views."

Her voice was loud enough for everyone to notice now. Alistair turned round at the mention of his name and frowned. "I never said, ah, _that _exactly," her salroka said carefully, aware of her sudden anger. "Just that you might be swayed by Rica's new found, um, position.."

Missa scowled up at him, eyes dark. "What?" She snapped. "You got something to add too?"

Alistair held out his hands in contrition. "You know I trust you," he replied defensively. "I stand by your decisions, even if my opinion on Lord Aeducan's obviously stellar reputation doesn't match yours."

"He's a greasy cave tick, I won't deny that. But a needed one, as I've told you over and fucking over again."

"Enough," Sten said loudly. "The Warden has spoken, we will follow."

Missa was too irate to acknowledge the Qunari's reply, stopping now. Their entire group blocked the bridge to the crumbling gates of Bownammar, the other companions gathering around the tight, angry form of their leader out of curiosity.

The ever-present flask, now topped up with Stone-knows brew the Legion cooked up flashed by the light of the lava and Oghren drank from it noisily. "We done pissing about? Not even out of the Trenches yet."

"Anyone else got anything to say about my political discourse while I'm here?" Missa replied in a snap, making sure she looked into everyone's eyes. "Perhaps you don't like the temperature of the Roads and need another blanket. Possibly the company is shitty and you want to complain about the food. Well?_ Do you_?" Slowly she rounded on them all, voice tight with fury. When silence greeted her, she itched her nose roughly, trying not to sneeze. "Nothing? Good. Then move out."

No one spoke -not even Leliana- for awhile after that.

* * *

There was more darkspawn to kill, more traps and puzzles left by the dead to decipher. Missa refused to disturb the graves of the Legion, figuring that if there was anything that was sacred down here, it was that.

Sometimes when it was her turn at guard duty and everyone was sleeping, she was convinced she heard voices. Rationally Missa told herself it was the wind through the air vents or the chattering of darkspawn, but a small, tiny part of her was too frightened to listen, just in case it was the very thing she was taught she would never be.

If the Stone existed, if really she was surrounded by ancestors of her people down here so deep and forgotten, then they were just echoes repeating themselves, too dead and too distant for her to reply. Besides, even as a Grey Warden -as Missa was constantly reminded by Lady Dace and her ilk- she would always be a duster, too weak to settle on stone.

What unnerved her the most was not the whispering dead so far down, but how intelligent the darkspawn now seemed. On the surface the attacks had been easy to fight and plan for, as the snarling rage of her enemy was easy to counteract, no worse then the rabid animals crazed with the taint she came across.

They were laying complex traps now, the crumbling tunnels and thaigs used against them in ambushes and skirmishes were suddenly Missa felt she had no control over, frightened of the dark as a child would be.

There was a sentient intelligence now present in her enemy. Usually a corrupted mage or a darkspawn that seemed to hold better armour and weapons then their band gave orders, and as Missa watched out of the corner of her eye amidst the fighting and snarling she could see a pecking order, a line of communication. It made her realise how fragile she seemed, how their ragtag group could be overwhelmed down here where the armies above could not hear them scream. How could they stop a Blight? How could she? She was only one person versus the horde, after all.

After stumbling into a tripwire set even she could not see, they came across more wily darkspawn to kill. They did not attack right away but waited, watching, searching for weaknesses before they were revealed themselves. It was a close fight, and if it wasn't for Alistair fending off a flanking attacker to her side, she would've been dead.

"Thinking darkspawn," Alistair muttered, shakily setting his shield to right again. "That's new."

"But not smart enough," Zevran murmured. "The mabari is still smarter, I say." Dog wagged his tail at the words, too tired to bark a response at having done two men's worth of work in fighting.

Missa leant against the wall, Wynne's cooling hands searching for injuries on her bare arm. "It's unnerving, is all," she replied, watching the mage work on her wounds. "Is this because of the Blight?"

Alistair shrugged, tiredness framing his movement. "I don't know. Probably?" Was his only answer, to the disgust of Sten.

It was through tiredness she heard the whispering of the Stone again, convinced it was in her head. Could elves and humans hear it?

_First day they come and catch everyone._

As she looked up, shock registered on her face that they could not only hear the echoes of the Stone but see it too. "Missa, what-" Leliana started to say, as startled as her, watching the figure of a woman seemingly disappear into the shadows of the tunnel.

Before she knew what she was doing, Missa ran, unsure what she was chasing. "Did you all see that?" She asked roughly, feet stopping finally as she tried to work out what exactly it was she saw.

"Yes," Sten replied shortly. "A small dwarven woman who looked ill."

"It was more of a wraith," Leliana murmured. "Perhaps a lost soul, no? Like the stories they tell here of the Stone."

"Whatever she was she needed a good meal and a bath. I could smell her from here, even above this filth," Zevran added. "Or a ghost, of course, as the bard says. I hope a naughty kind, naturally."

"Oh, delightful. So we're looking for a hungry ghost. What nonsense," Morrigan replied, voice cutting and sharp.

"It was a small dwarven woman," Sten reiterated. "In need of nourishment, as the elf said."

"Ah, you see? The Qunari agrees with me. Well then, moving on, shall we?"

"That is not what I said," 'the Qunari' in question replied.

"Branka," Oghren said, looking at Missa. For once, the ever-present flask of booze wasn't in his hand. "I mean, not Branka herself but... we're getting close, right? We must be. Must be one of her people."

If he thought that, then Missa thought he was more stupidly optimistic then he was letting on. "An odd way to treat one of _your _people if that's the case, Oghren," she said. "Come on, let's go. I want to move out of this area as soon as possible, something is not right."

The whispering woman, as the group had labeled her, greeted them again, not finished yet. Missa tried to speak, to get something out of her, but it appeared she knew the tunnels and always lingered just out of reach, refusing to interact with their group.

"I'm going to give up soon," Missa replied. "She's too half-smelted to get anything sensible out of her."

"We can't leave her, Warden," Wynne said sternly. "Something must be done." Missa felt a stab of annoyance at the mage's words and let it go, refusing to comment.

"She's crazy," Oghren stated blankly. "But then, down here is enough for crazy."

"Did you know her?" Missa asked, curious now, watching as Wynne tried to talk to the bedraggled woman this time, talking to her as she would a cornered animal, with gentle words and open arms.

"Your name, child," Wynne asked her, voice soothing.

Startled, the visibly tainted woman jerked suddenly, finally aware of her audience. "I have not heard- are you dream friends? Are you real?" Thinking the question over, she rocked slightly. "Hespith. That is my name. That is what I was called. It has been so long since I have heard that.."

"Hespith," Wynne repeated gently. "It's a lovely name."

"Where are the others?" Missa asked brusquely, trying to dig out more information.

"Branka, Branka, Branka," and Hespith smiled, itching at the black patches of her arms.

"We need to find her," Wynne replied, tone still calm. "It is why we are here."

"Does the Stone punish you too, dream friend?" Hespith asked. "I was her captain, and I did not stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her, I cannot."

Finally she disappeared again, running from them all. "Leave her be," Missa said to Wynne, refusing to waste energy in a game of chase. Unlike Ruck, Missa was too tired to deal with the situation there, her heart too heavy for mercy.

Oghren took a wider swig of his flask, disturbed by the words said to them. "I didn't recognize her under all that. She was Branka's Second, you see. They always did everything together."

Something in his obviously distressed tone made her question him, but Missa was too reluctant to voice it. "We're getting close, then. Let's move on."

"This is getting creepy," Alistair muttered, poking the flesh-covered walls with his sword as they started to walk again. "More so then usual."

There had no choice where to go. The corruption was getting worse, the heat and stench enough to make her cough. More walking down an uneven tunnel and Hespith appeared again, not quite running away.

"I am sorry," she said to them, rocking slightly. "Branka, Branka led you here, led _us _here. She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want."

Missa's gut twisted. "Why women, Hespith?"

But Hespith did not respond, lost in her own explanation. "They want tto change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them. Broodmother..."

Hespith ran off again, and this time Missa chased. As the tainted, crazed woman ran into the shadows away from her, she finally realised what it was they being led to, what it was Hespith was frightened of.

_Broodmother._

Of all the things that would stay with her, of all the things she wish she would never see, never imagine, this was it.

And it -the thing, the monster, did not want them there, as vicious and angry as the darkspawn she was used to. It attacked instantly, calling for more help to wipe their presence clean from this seemingly scared place.

So they attacked, images slowing down like a dream. Sten, Oghren, Zevran and Alistair worked on the fleshy body, as shocked as Missa at what they were attacking, thankful that her friends and followers knew enough at how they worked together to fight in instinct.

Leliana's scream filled her above the squealing of the broodmother. Missa ducked and rolled as veiny tentacles aimed for her feet swept her over, deceptively fast moving. "Shale, help me," she yelled, Dog on her heels, and the golem moved as quickly as a thing made of stone could to free Morrigan and Wynne of the constrictors that choked them.

It wasn't fast enough. Leliana was picked up and thrown across the cave, the broodmother screaming in pain as Zevran found a place to dig his daggers into flesh. Oghren was knocked back suddenly, too woozy to stand up and fight again.

The screams cries the attention of the darkspawn nearby, a macabre siren calling her kin closer. Missa dealt with them as much as she could, protecting Morrigan and Wynne alike so they could focus on their magic, despite the tentacles attacking them still.

A pitiful scream, high and sharp sounded in the chamber and finally the Broodmother died. The strange, vine-like tentacles that choked Wynne and Leliana stopped and dropped them, free of their hold.

Hespith, aware that she led them here, sobbed once. She edged forward above the chamber they were in, staring down impassively at the lip of a wall she stood on. Missa knew she was there when it started, flinching and twitching from above as they tore into the very monster she led them to.

With a final half-sob, half laugh, the tainted woman left them, and Missa found herself following.

"Hespith, wait-"

Without thinking, Missa clambered up sticky, skin-covered walls. Finally she saw her again, tattered clothing barely covering her body, toes touching the edge of the deep ravine that was there, waiting. Missa thought she understood what just happened, but her mind could not process it fully. She wanted the abomination explained, the sickness dissected.

"That is why they take us. I loved her, dream friend," Hespith said, not quite looking her in the face. "I loved her, only her, and stood by and did nothing. Forgive her, please. No no no no no _no_, do not forgive her. Not what she did but what she has become. She betrayed us."

"Who?" Missa asked roughly.

"Branka, Branka, my love my only love, forgive her, don't forgive her, damn her. Stone damn her, like it has me. I did nothing, I stood by and let her, aided her."

"I will try," Missa replied quietly. "If it will give you peace."

Hespith smiled, rotten, blackened teeth showing. "I am not dying anymore. Good bye, dream friend."

"Wait, please-"

Too little, too late. What remained of the woman fell, tumbling down the ravine. Missa heard the thudding of her body hitting the walls, the only sound Hespith allowed herself to make.

Missa didn't know how long she stood there, staring into the abyss where a woman took her life. She did not begrudge Hespith that, what kind of person would she be if she did? But she was angry, too inarticulate to work out the how and the why of her rage.

Somehow she stumbled on her feet, propelled by her own fury, a familiar burning that kept her going. Her party was in shambles, but all she could focus on was the visceral remains of the Broodmother -Laryn, her name- a bloated corpse spewing gangrenous blood, the stench permeating everything in hot, small cave.

Sten poked the balloon-like, bulbous sack near the remains,seemingly unperturbed by the odour and the gore. Suddenly the membrane split and fluid gushed out, the blade point marking a trail down the veined cocoon. The remains of a fleshy lump spilled onto the ground, as dead as the Broodmother. Missa edged closely, despite her revulsion and a fretful suspicion at what it was, not quite looking away.

To call it a child would be wrong, a contempt of the word. But there were small, tiny hands, closed eyelids, formed limbs she could see through the mucus, a body _still _despite the bloating and the distortion.

Missa put a gloved hand over her mouth, refusing to throw up, unsure how she found her feet. She moved past Sten, stumbling through the mess of the chamber to try and find a way out.

The walls narrowed, her feet stumbling along a dusty, shadowed path. She had no idea how long she walked for, aware distantly of voices calling her after her heart had finally slowed down and her senses were returning.

"Missa-"

She ignored it until finally Zevran pulled her arm and pushed her against the wall. "We have to stop." Missa glared up at him, jaw tight with anger.

Looking behind her finally she saw only a few followed; Shale and Sten looked at her impassively, faces of stone. "Right."

"Alistair is injured, so is Leliana. Oghren somehow survives, but I believe Wynne will patch him up quickly."

_Oghren. _Some distant reasoning stirred and she headed back quickly, anger again propelling her feet forward. Finally she stopped by the prone form of the warrior out of his armour and covered in bandages, and of course he was drinking. "You look how I feel Warden," Oghren said after a gulp. "But the old lady there did her sparkle fingers and I ain't so holey now."

Leaning down she grabbed him by his grubby shirt and pulled him up, her shoulder muscles twinging in protest. "What are we looking for, Oghren?" Missa shouted, face obviously livid with anger even by the gloom of the Roads. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"Warden!" She was dragged from her hold of Oghren bodily by both Wynne and Leliana, the Bard's arm still in a sling from her fall. Shaking them off irritably she started to pace, aware she had to calm down.

"I've never heard of a Broodmother," Alistair said quietly. "None of the other Wardens said anything."

"They had to have come from somewhere. No wonder the Legion kept their women close to hand," Morrigan said, her magic illuminating the dirty passageway.

Missa refused to think of the taint in her blood, at the corruption slowing killing her. Shakily she wiped a dirty hand over her mouth and swallowed her revulsion once more. "Laryn. That was her name, Oghren. That thing we just killed. She was dwarva. She was us. She was-" Missa stopped her walking, but her anger was still there. "I saw Hespith kill herself. These women, you must've known them. Hespith, the one we saw, she… said they were betrayed."

"Hespith was Branka's captain," he said quietly. "I didn't know they were… comfortin' each other down here. I know as much as you."

"Branka might be dead, but her fate wasn't Laryn's," Missa replied. "Lucky her. Tell me, how many of your House do you think she killed to get this far? But it doesn't matter, right? They were only darkspawn fodder. For an Anvil."

The warrior didn't reply straight away, and refused to look at her. "I told you she was obsessed."

Finally it was enough, seeing her party like this. Something that was keeping Missa tightly wound up snapped and she slid down the cave of the wall in a crumpled heap, dirty gloves digging into her hair. Slowly she breathed, thinking things through. "Nearly at the heart of it," she murmured. "Almost there. And then we go home."

_Home._ What was that, anyway? She looked sideways at Alistair, past the shadows where Zevran and her mabari clung to, unsure what else to say.

"Being fleshy certainly isn't useful," Shale added pithily, having observed Missa's shouting with barely concealed contempt. "You seem to fall apart and drip ...extremities everywhere."

"We've killed enough golems this week to show your kind aren't as mortal as you like to think, Shale. Don't test me," Missa replied, voice low, trying to ignore the sounds of Oghren drinking himself into another stupor.

"Ha," was the only reply, stone feet stomping a little too loudly in the cave away from them.

She sat staring into space, finally exhausted. Sten looked down at her, arms crossed. Missa was too tired and sore to look up at the Qunari, but was very much aware of his gaze. "What?" she asked, voice rough, staring at her spot on the cave wall still.

"You should rest. It is foolish to tire yourself. Your body is a weapon, and requires maintenance. Too much work and the blade dulls. Too little and it rusts, useless in a sheath."

Coming from the Qunari it was practically a hug and an offering of warm stew. "Right, thanks Sten. Perhaps you should take that advice yourself, hmm?"

"Even the lowliest of plants need nourishment and inaction to function. Children know this. Evidently you do not." he replied neutrally, though Missa was convinces she heard a hint of irritation in his voice. Her mabari looked between them both and limped over, obviously hurt in the fight. Gently the animal leant his support against her slumped form, solid body warm and reassuring.

Finally she snapped her head up to look at the Qunari, rubbing Dog's ears distantly. "Yeah? Funny thing. There's moss that grows here in these Roads on nothing. Literally, nothing. Doesn't even need stone or light or water. It just ...exists. Never assume things are as they are just because you assume they _should _be."

"You are no moss, Warden. My point is still valid."

"Well spotted Sten." Missa returned to staring back at her wall, voice dry. "I'm foiled again."

The rest had avoided her, mindful of their leader's fraying temper and lost in their own thoughts and injuries, trying to make some kind of shelter as far away from the corruption as best they could. Zevran sat quietly beside her and fretted with his poisons regardless, Dog wagging his stumpy tail at his approach.

Unaware how, she had drifted off to sleep. Perhaps it was her mabari's warming presence, perhaps it was finally being left alone to sit and snap herself together, but Missa slept briefly. She drowsed only slightly, aware of a blanket draped over her. Hazily she recognised the scent of Zevran as he lingered over her briefly, her hair tucked behind her ear with a soft touch.

"Don't wake her," she heard him mutter to her mabari. "I'm watching you." Dog's reply was to sigh and shift slightly, not bothering to even dignify the exchange with a look at the assassin.

The respite did not last long, and the nightmares found her again. Lost in endless, visceral imagery of darkspawn and broodmothers she startled herself awake, Dog still asleep by her side. With a stretch Missa sat up and winced as her back protested at the movement, trying not to wake up the mabari.

She stumbled over to Alistair, the only occupant visible in their makeshift camp. "Is it bad, Miss?" he asked suddenly, drinking slowly from his canteen, miserably waving his rations at her. "All I can think of is a hot meal. I'd really, really like something to eat that isn't dried meat, exactly how can I think of food down here? I want roast potatoes, beef and gravy, and possibly spotted dick with custard for after."

"Spotted dick?" Alistair made a noise of such longing that Missa laughed until she choked. "With or without cream, Alistair? I'm curious."

"No one could do it like the cooks at the Chantry where I was taught," he replied dreamily, unaware of the real source of her amusement. "It was the only thing to look forward to on Tuesdays. It was spotted dick day then, you see. Well, if you'd been good, obviously. Meals were taken away from you if you weren't the good little Chantry boy expected of you."

"No dick if you were naughty. Right. Very cruel."

The conversation finally caught up with Alistair and he blushed furiously. "I meant the pudding. The pudding! Not- urgh, your mind is constantly in the gutter, do you know that?"

Missa ignored his protests. "Why don't we ask the others? I'm sure they can think of something to say. Zevran especially would be candid enough to offer his opinion, I'm sure. About spotted dick, I mean."

"It's a pudding! A traditional Ferelden pudding!" He cried indignantly, pointing a finger at her. "I am aware that it can mean ...something else too. Don't you dare tell the others. They already think-"

She held her fingers up in contrition and smiled, thankful that her friend could drag her miles away from even the rawest of visceral memories they both had seen. "All right, salroka, I'll spare your dignity. Only this once, though."

"Good."

They sat in companionable silence and watched as a still limping Dog padded over to their location, stretching in a yawn in front of them. Finally the events of what happened caught up emotionally, both grimly reminded where they were once again. Missa kept on returning to the bodies inside the pods near the broodmother, images of half-formed bodies in mucus, as dead as the thing that bred them. If she could separate the thoughts of how they were created, she could cope.

Missa did not want to think of the woman raped and tortured to become that, the dwarven woman forced and abused and changed into a monster. Oddly the image of Rica kept on coming back to her, beaming at her little sister with such pride and love at what she had created, little Endrin happy and gurgling in her arms. It sickened Missa that her mind connected the dots in such a way, ashamed she associated her family by default with monsters.

They both startled at a sound at the end of the tunnel, hands reaching for weapons in instinct. "We shouldn't linger," she added, too worried of the after effects of staying in one place for too long, feeling the scream of the darkspawn in her head still.

"I agree."

Slowly she rose and began to rouse the group, pushing herself forward once more. A job was not done, and she intended to finish it.

* * *

_One week later..._

The armour her sister had made for her was too tight and too shiny, and Missa felt a fraud wearing it, sitting in the rooms of the royal palace gifted to her by her sister. Her posessions from the Grey Warden headquarters were shifted without questions, Rica insisting her sibling be close "to the family" during the ceremony, determined to spend time with Missa until she left her again.

It had barely been days since they left the Deep Roads, finally stumbling back to civilisation via the gates of Orzammar. Their armour, packs and tents were taken from them and burnt, deemed tainted and corrupt by the guards. She faced the Assembly with a newly forged crown in her hands in a borrowed chainmail too big for her, feeling like a child in her father's armour.

With the fresh blood of the disputing deshyrs barely scrubbed from the floor of the Assembly, Lord Bhelen Aeducan was made King of her city, Paragon-made crown resting on his brow. He had yet to speak to her about the troops needed for the surface; there was coronation politics to deal with, but a brief promise was made that their deal was still solid.

"You look very fancy," Alistair said, leaning against the door frame, watching her clean her greaves. Missa knew he was there, and found his presence comforting. "Almost respectable, even. Missa Brosca, Grey Warden."

She looked up from her work and smiled. "Hah. I must be doing something wrong, then."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far." He sat on a too small chair opposite her in a thud, new armour squeaking in protest. He wasn't happy his favourite battleplate was thrown into the lava thanks to the city's contamination rules, but seemed to be pleased with the best dwarven smiths had to offer him, shining metal gleaming and untarnished.

"I always do," Missa muttered, rubbing the polishing cloth into the joints of her boots some more.

That sat in silence until Alistair spoke again, watching his friend with concern. "You all right, Miss? I mean, I know you're not completely, you'd have to be made of stone to not be affected from what we saw."

It was too easy, and she replied lightning quick with a grin. "Good job I'm a duster, then."

"Oh, of course."

She lifted the armour up to check for spots, aware there was none. "Well then, I suppose we should be paraded about until His Royal Highness deems it proper to speak to us."

"Exciting, I can tell you're enthused with that thought as I am."

"I want to get away as quickly as I can," and finally she put the rest of her armour on, covering her too new boots with the perfectly polished greaves. "We need to get to the surface. I'm already annoyed at the fussing."

"No disagreement here. Maybe if we head back to Redcliffe, reconvene with what we have? Lands Meet isn't until another month or so... I think. I mean, it's been awhile down here. And the Blight is moving on without us."

"That's what I thought too," and she finally stood up, shaking slightly under the alien weight of the armour on her body. "I speak to the newly minted King, I get my troops, we go see daylight again. Sounds like a plan."

Whatever showed on her obviously tired face was enough for him to want to blurt out platitudes and sympathy, but Alistair knew it wouldn't get him far. Missa, however, could see he was working himself up to say something, and ignored it.

"For what it's worth," he said, making a pretence of fiddling with his gauntlets as she sighed at his outburst, "I think you made the right decisions. Down there, I mean. I've been thinking about it, what we did. It wasn't right, but-"

"Enough, Alistair," she replied wearily, exhausted of thinking about every little thing she said and did in the past week.

"I know you're upset about it all, still. What with Shale now not being here, for one. That doesn't help."

The golem, now missing from their group, was a sore point. "_Enough_, Alistair."

"No," he replied quietly. "You need to hear it, I think. Whatever poison Zevran dripped in your ear about Branka, it doesn't help. I know what you feel about him-"

"I feel shit about him," she snarled. "He was just a fuckin' tumble. I am aware I have better things to do then screw around when I'm meant to be killing darkspawn, but I'm only dwarva. I fuck things up occasionally. He is one."

Alistair held up his hands in defence. "I, um, wasn't exactly aiming for that but anyway. The point I was trying to make, the thing I am trying to say... urgh, I'm no good with words. I know it's probably not enough for me to say it, but. As your salroka," and the word sounded so funny in his accent, the vowels blunt and dull, "I got your back."

Missa stopped her walking and refused to look at him, biting her lip. Rather then brush him off awkwardly, she gently punched his arm, making a show of her action. "Thanks, Alistair," she said softly.

"Ah hah! See? I'm good for some things. That and witty one-liners during highly inappropriate moments, obviously. All part of the Alistair charm."

She leant in and headbutted his shoulder gently. Awkwardly Alistair shoved her back, unsure if he could hug her not. As he put his arm in to do so, Rica entered the rooms she gave her sister, baby Endrin resting on her hip. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She said, looking at the scene, unsure what was going on.

Missa sighed, knowing her sister's imagination was in all sorts of awkward to explain places. "It's okay Rica," she said dully. "Come in."

"That's my cue to leave, I think. I'll see you at the feast-coronation-party thing. Well, whatever it is." Alistair said. Quickly he bowed to her sister, every inch the gentleman. "Lovely to see you again, Rica. That dress is very fine indeed." As he straightened, he wriggled his fingers at Endrin goofily, entire face lighting up in a smile. "Hi there little guy, how you doing?"

Endrin's reaction to the big shiny man frantically waving at him was to push his face into his Mother's neck, shy at the attention. "Oh, Stone bless him, sorry Alistair! He's nervous with strangers. I had to change a few hours back, but thanks for noticing. That's babies for you, I don't know why I bother sometimes, everything ends up in dribble or sick. Oh, I'm sorry! I'm chattering on again, you don't want to hear about this."

"I wouldn't know about that, not much babies in our line of work."

Rica patted her hair nervously with her free hand and Missa rolled her eyes. "Stop it, salroka," she warned. "Before I punch you where it hurts."

Unsure what he did to incur the wrath of his friend and oblivious to the effect of his charms, Alistair frowned. "Riiiiight then. I'll be going now. See you both later, I hope," and left the two women to it in a final bow.

Rica shifted her son in her arms slightly, looking over her sister as carefully as Alistair had. "I'm glad you're home," she said. "And in one piece."

Missa snorted with laughter, ignoring the implication of the word _home_. "It was close."

"But you're safe now. And looking very very impressive in that armour. My sister, the Grey Warden," Rica smiled, obviously proud. "Hold your nephew for a second, I have something to give you."

Endrin grumbled slightly at being transferred, grasping for his Mother once more. "You've done enough, Rica," Missa said, embarrassed at the thought of more gifts.

"Oh, it's not much- don't worry."

Endrin wriggled more and Missa tried not to move, paranoid her armour would hurt him. As his big, trusting eyes looked for his Mother again, she smiled. "They let you have Endrin full time now?"

Rica stood up straight, her head back. "Yes," she replied quietly. "I made sure of that. Bhelen made sure of that. I took on the palace nursery staff, that was quite a fight. As fearsome as genlocks, believe me."

"Good." Her nephew began to fuss a little more and Missa jiggled him on her hip slightly. It did more harm then good and Endrin began to cry, little face screwed up tightly as he wailed for his Mother again.

As Rica made to take her son back, a wrapped package was slipped in to Missa's hands, small enough to fit in one palm. "Here, please take this. I know armour changes, but this won't, I hope."

Missa looked at her sister cautiously and opened the waxed paper. A silver necklace with a stylised bronto pendant lay there, made in delicate filigree despite the study lines of the art. It was almost a replica of the tattoo on her lower back, something Zevran put his hands on and laughed, pleased at the way the design curved her buttocks. _Look, cara. They're guidelines. _

She squashed down her confusion with the Antivan, unable to de-tangle her thoughts to what they were, what they should be- despite her strong words to Alistair previously about her lover. Instead she held the necklace up, Endrin grasping for the shiny thing just out of his reach. "Brosca the Bronto," she replied quietly. "It's nice."

As a child, it was an insult used against her, the equivalent of bitch or slag. Missa turned it into something to be proud of, however. A charging bronto was not something you would mock. Rather, it was something you feared. "It's how I'll always see you," Rica said.

Missa did not do confrontations well. Instead she slipped the silver chain over her head and tucked it under her armour, aware of the symbol. "I got something for you too. Well, Endrin, anyway."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. You being here is more then enough. I know you have things to do."

She walked over slowly to her belongings, hoping it would still be there. As she looked through the bags she left at the Grey Warden headquarters, she finally found it at the bottom of the canvas rucksack.

As soon as she opened her hand, her sister knew what it was. "Oh, Missa," and the chipped soapstone toy Missa's wayward father made her as a child lay there, a bronto in another form.

"Our family don't have much in the way of heirlooms. I figured this would be one, even though the horn is broken off. Actually, considering us? That makes sense, heh."

"I can't believe you took it with you," Rica said, taking it from her to show Endrin. Her son took one look at it and promptly shoved it in his mouth, already coating it in dribble.

Missa shrugged at that awkwardly. She did not want to tell her sister she returned to their Dust Town hovel during her return, crawling on her hands and knees in the dust and dirt to find it. "Well, it's Endrin's now. I know he'll have diamonds to play skimstone with and a gold-plated spoon to feed himself, but I figured it'll be nice to have a reminder of what Brosca is. Or was."

Rica held her head up again. "Definately was, Missa. I'll teach him that, don't worry." As she jiggled Endrin in her arms she sighed. "I should get back, as nice as this has been. I'm meant to be mingling. As should you be, actually. The nobles are asking after you, how exciting is that?"

"Thrilling," Missa dead-panned.

"You better make sure you come," Rica warned, voice suddenly steely. "No hiding either."

"I'll do my best."

As Rica made to leave, she half turned. Endrin styill had the bronto toy in his mouth, tiny fists holding onto it tightly. "Could you... could you look in on mother for me? She was too unwell to make the coronation," her sister said quietly. "I have to get back, Lady Thend is waiting for me, you see, and-"

"It's fine," Missa replied quickly, aware of the subtle guilt her sister was currently ladling on her. "Near your rooms, right?"

"Yes, just down the hall. I'll see you soon, little sister."

As Rica walked out, Missa sat down heavily. The last thing she wanted was to see her Mam, but she was aware she was avoiding her.

While she knew she had changed, she was unsure her Mother had, and selfishly she wanted no reminders of her old life. She joked and said she was a duster and casteless with her friends, but the reality was subtly different, neither one or the other. She could no more return to Dust Town to live then she could_ not_ be a Grey Warden, the taint in her blood changing her body still.

Missa Brosca put on her gloves and walked out of the rooms given to her by a King's mistress, finally facing the one thing she needed to do to kill the last of the duster in her. It wasn't quite as pretty as wearing expensive, heavy armour, or as easy as slipping on a necklace, but it had to be done.

The dead duster was not quite dead, but a few more nails into the coffin and she would be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Overdue update is overdue! During that time I've done a lot of painting and drawing, taken up combat classes (channelling my inner Missa is fun) and still kept up with the fandom, never quite leaving.

This is the second to last chapter of _Dead Duster Walking_ before the sequel comes out.


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